Invasion
by Verin Mystal
Summary: America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language & violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language & violence. Nation/human names used interchangeably.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

_**A/n:**_ Decided to gradually de-anon this while I continue it in the kink-meme at LiveJournal. Originally intended as a "one-shot" but slowly turned into a 10,000+ word monster. Inspiration for this came from an old one-shot theme challenge, the theme being "invasion", hence the title. I decided to take this on to practice writing Russia/America (I don't have a firm grasp of Russia or America's characters (imo), but I figured the more I practiced writing them, the better I'll get? Any advice/constructive criticism is definitely welcome). Comments/reviews are love :)

* * *

_Why am I still alive?_

It was a question he asked himself every morning since the day of the flash.

_I shouldn't be here._

It happened after a long day of meetings with his boss and the cabinet. He drove home in his truck, thinking only of crawling under the cotton sheets and resting his head upon the goose-down pillows. He might have been hungry, but mental exhaustion and tunnel vision over-ruled. Cars flew past him on the lonely two-lane highway, acres of private land on either side of the road. Beside him on the passenger seat lay his cell phone. It trilled shortly, signaling a new text message he'd received. Stealing a glance, he found it to be from Russia, whom he'd been messaging back and forth for the past several hours. Turning onto an ancient gravel road, his old Virginia home finally came into view. He sloppily parked his truck in the street and stumbled across the lawn to his front door in a haze.

_Sleep first… I'll call him later._

Tony failed to greet him at the door. In hindsight, he should've been more concerned with this, as his alien friend always, _without fail_, met him at the door. It was a mannerism of Tony's at first that soon grew into a silent ritual. However, America found himself too focused on the soft mattress and pillows upstairs to care. Throwing everything to the floor, he shuffled up the stairs, into his room and promptly collapsed into his bed.

_How is this even possible?_

Sometime later, he felt a tiny hand clutching his shoulders. Groaning unintelligently, America twisted away. The grip suddenly grew painful as he was drug from the bed.

"Ow- hey-!"

America's head hit the floor first.

"What the _hell_-?"

Tony had both his hands in a bruising grip.

"Tony, what-?"

The grip on his wrists grew unbearably painful as he was thrown into a small enclosure. Tony jumped in after him, his movement's jerky and almost _panicked_. America turned to the smaller creature, trying to pick himself off the floor.

"What the hell is going _on_?" America glared at his old, alien friend. "What-"

Tony grasped the side of the enclosure, tugging a sliding metal sheet across when the flash happened.

* * *

Two years had passed since the flash.

Two weeks since he'd last seen humans.

Four days since the last encounter with _them_.

Alfred swallowed and hefted his pack further up his shoulder, adjusting the weight to ease the soreness of his back. His clothes, consisting of jeans, a red shirt and stressed black leather vest were old and blood stained. Holes were repaired, sewn and re-sewn until the fabric was thin as paper. A thick leather belt hung from his waist, weighed down by spare bullets and his two .357 Magnum's. The large caliber rifle strung across his back, along with the ax, was a hefty, albeit comforting weight.

_If I'm still here… then the others have to be here too._

It was a thought that Alfred kept with him since emerging from the cramped enclosure after the flash.

The utter decimation of his large cities struck a blow both mentally and physically that lingered for months after. He didn't remember much directly after the flash. Only images and feelings, boiling emotions and vivid flashbacks. After _waking up_, he stood before a the shattered remains of his mirror and found his body covered in deep lacerations, horrid burns, and gouging stab-like wounds. All scabbed over, puckered and ugly.

After the initial realization of the attack, he tried his cell phone. Of course, the plentiful supply of signals from before was now non-existent. He dug through his home, what was left of it, and found an old two-way radio. Hours were spent searching the channels, where only silence answered.

_"The satellites are gone-"_ He remembered saying after spending days trying to his fellow nations, contact government officials, **anyone**. _"-Aren't they Tony?"_

Tony only nodded in response.

_"The international space station-?"_

Tony nodded.

_"The flash… was nuclear?"_

Tony nodded.

_"…the capital… my major cities… they're all gone?"_

Tony looked away, unable to reaffirm his assumptions any further.

America trembled and crushed his cell phone to dust.

_-Can't think about that. Have to stick to the plan. Have to find Matthew._

He continued on up the two-lane highway, passing the rusted, empty husks of cars and the dead, rotting bodies that filled them. Trees surrounded him on either side. _A bad position, being out in the open, void of places to hide or use for cover_. Deep down, he thought of the other nations across the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. _Did the other nations meet each other? Are they planning a way to defeat __**them**__?_ Alfred tensed at the thought, feeling a curl of obsessive hatred towards the invaders.

_Don't. Don't get angry. Just focus on the plan. Find Matthew, and then plan from there._

It was all he thought about since he left his half-collapsed home in Virginia with Tony. It took him a couple years, but he slowly made his way north. Avoiding the larger cities and towns, in fear of encountering them, he kept to the wilderness as much as possible, surviving from the land and any abandoned homes he came across. Once crossing his northern most border with his brother, Alfred kept to the two-lane highway that lead to the remote cabin Matthew owned.

"He may not even be alive." Tony admitted one early morning. "He could've been in Ottawa when it _happened_."

"He wasn't in Ottawa." Alfred's voice was unwavering. "He's alive."

Tony wasn't convinced. "How do you know that?"

"I just do."

* * *

Two more weeks passed before Alfred arrived at the weaving dirt road that lead to Matthew's cabin.

Cars were piled at the road side entrance, many burnt down to their frames. Narrowing his eyes at the sight, Alfred took a wide arc around the destruction, stepping into the tree line. Pulling his rifle from his back, he swiftly chambered a few rounds with practiced ease and stalked through the woods.

Tony moved with him, following Alfred's footsteps and clutching a rifle in his small hands.

"Fucking Invaders." He growled.

Tony refused to call them _aliens_. He himself was an alien species to earth, but he was there for peaceful purposes, not to take over a planet and kill off the native species.

It was no secret to Alfred that Tony resented and hated them for what they did.

Moving from tree to tree, they made it half way to the cabin before gunfire erupted in the distance.

Breaking in a run, Alfred surged forward through the trees, making out the hissing screams and dark fluid shapes. The cabin loomed in the distance, slowly growing larger and larger until the trees thinned and front yard of the cabin opened up. Dark, lanky figured climbed through broken windows as others lay on the grass, bleeding green fluid that boiled once coming into contact with earth's oxygen-rich atmosphere.

Alfred raised his rifle, lined up the sights and fired three quick rounds into the chest cavity of the _thing_ climbing through the window in a manner of seconds.

Chambering three more rounds in quick succession, Alfred ran forward, his rifle trained and ready to fire at a seconds notice. More shooting came from inside, hissing screams shattered the quiet solitude of the forest. Smashing a window out with the butt of his rifle, Alfred climbed in and found two more of _them_ clawing at the remains of a door.

Alfred fired three rounds into one, it's chest exploding in a spray of green liquid. The other surged through the doorway. A sudden, dreadfully familiar scream of outrage erupted from the room.

"Fuck-!" Sprinting forward, he flew into the room and found his twin fighting off the thing with a hunting knife as long as his forearm. "Get _away_ from him-!"

Alfred grabbed the thing by the thick, black tentacle hairs on the back of its neck and flung it away. It fell to the floor with an ear-piercing shriek, and made to get up. Alfred jabbed a foot on its chest and slammed the butt of his rifle into its face. Matthew lurched forward, nearly falling to the floor and sunk the knife up to the hilt in its chest. It quivered, struggling against them until a bubbly whimper sighed past its toothy lips.

Gasping, Alfred stepped away and turned to Tony, who was standing at the door, shooting the dead alien in the head again for good measure. "Anymore?"

Tony shook his head, but kept to his post as lookout.

"A-ameri-…A-al...it's…" Matthew's haggard voice cut through the silence. "Y-you're… really _here_-"

Alfred turned and found his twin leaning back against the chair he'd been sitting in, staring at him. "You-…I thought… I could've _sworn_ you were in Washington I...I…"

_He's alive_. Alfred stared at Matthew, seeing him and studying his face for the first time in ages. _He's alive_.

"I wanted to stay." Alfred felt far away, his body and mind disconnected. "But they made me leave early. They said I needed a break."

"Oh _Al-_…" Matthew's voice broke and he choked on a sob. "I-…I thought you were…god _damn_ you…"

Alfred blinked at Matthew, and remembered the last time they'd seen each other.

_Three years ago. We fought… fought badly. Bloody noses and bruised ribs, sprained ankles and headlocks… but France and England broke it up. _"Matthew?" Alfred stared at his brother, the memories flooding him. "You…you're-..."

Something shattered within him. The light feeling retreated, leaving behind a heavy raw darkness.

"I thought you were _dead_!" Matthew's voice croaked, sounding as if it clawed its way up his throat. "I thought… I'd never see you again and I…"

"I'm sorry." America gazed down at Matthew, blinking at the stinging in his eyes. "I'm sorry I took so long."

"Well I-… _Alfred_ I'm here now." Matthew's voice suddenly changed, and he struggled to stand up. "You're okay, and I'm okay. We're both _okay_."

His eyes still oddly stinging, Alfred peered down at Matthew and found his right thigh bleeding heavily, soaking his camouflaged pant leg.

"Alfred please-" Matthew struggled into his chair, and held his hands out to him. "-everything's _okay_ now."

"But you're bleeding-…"

Alfred blinked again and reached up to rub away whatever stung his eyes. His fingers came away wet.

The walls crashing down within, Alfred took three steps forward before falling to his knees and dropping the rifle at his feet. He flung his arms around Matthew and relished the familiar, comforting smell of his brother. Matthew wrapped his arms around Alfred, drinking in the old, familiar presence of his twin brother.

"I… I thought I'd never see you or anyone else again…"

Darkness fell, and the two clung to each other out of fear and need, taking comfort in each other's presence… just as they did hundreds of years ago.

* * *

"I think we should cross the Bering Strait."

Matthew looked up from the high-powered, scoped rifle he was cleaning.

"If we start now, we'd get to… to Russia just in time for spring." Alfred clenched a metal flask in his fingers. "I think-"

"You want to leave?" Matthew set the rifle down and fixed a steady gaze on his twin. "You want to _leave_ our homelands'? You want to leave our _people_ behind?"

"That's not what I meant!" Alfred slapped the flask down on the desk. "I can't just stay here in this cabin, Matthew! Those things are still out there, infesting our cities and killing our people-!"

"You think I don't know that?" Matthew glared and stood from his seat, favoring his right leg. "Alfred, I want the others to be alive just as much as you do-"

"What if they met up already? What if they have a plan to fight back and we're just sitting here-!"

"If that's the case then why don't we travel south to Mexico and the others?" Matthew questioned. "We can meet with them and see-"

"I would've… truly I would… but..." Alfred winced. "My people... the stories from the south… they got hit really bad."

"Those fucking invaders took over the south, southwestern areas." Tony interrupted. "The further south you go, the more _invaders_ there are."

"Oh…I see." Matthew allowed, his expression softening. "You… really think the other's are alive?"

"Yes." Alfred said without pause. "They have to be. At least… I know R-… Ivan wasn't in Moscow when the flash happened."

"How?" Matthew asked, returning to his seat with a pained sigh. "You said you'd been working that whole day-?"

"I…I'd been texting him throughout the day." Alfred swallowed at the lump in his throat. "We were planning on getting together that weekend."

"Well…" Matthew picked up the flask America slapped to the table earlier, unscrewed the cap and downed a mouthful of water. "Where was he?"

"Uelen."(1)

"Uelen?" Matthew blinked. "What was he doing way out there…?"

He screwed the cap back on and set the flask on the table.

"We were going to meet there the next day and he…" Alfred turned away. "He wanted to show me around and... we'd been meaning to do something like that for a while."

Matthew stared at Alfred's back, coming to a silent understanding.

"I have often… wondered about Yekaterina." Matthew leaned back in his chair, his eyes growing distant and far away. "I have hoped she is still healthy and is… doing well."

"I'm sure she's fine." Alfred turned around, a tiny, genuine smiled spreading across face. "Ivan would make sure of it. He'd never let his sister's get caught by those… those _things_."

Matthew nodded, a tiny smile spreading in response. "Of course… your right."

"Well…"Alfred held his hand out. "What do you say?"

Matthew stared at the hand, hesitating. "You want to cross the Yukon wilderness through _winter_?"

Alfred glared at him. "We've done it before-!"

"-hundreds of years ago." He deadpanned.

Matthew bit his lip, turning the slim number of options they had in his head. Finally, he sighed and gingerly took his twins outstretched hand.

"What do we have to lose?"

* * *

**_Mid-December_**

Alfred wrapped an additional scarf he pillaged from a remote cabin and wrapped it around his head and face.

"D-do… you have any idea w-where we are?" Alfred's teeth chattered as he wrapped his arms around his chest. "Matthew?"

It was cold. Bone-chilling cold. Cold enough that when he spit, the liquid was frozen solid before it hit the ground.

"We're closing in on the Yukon river." Matthew stopped and waited for his twin. "Are you alright?"

Alfred trudged through the snow after him, red-faced and shivering. Tony followed after him seemingly unfazed by the frigid air, a thick coat with faux fur lining covering him from head to toe.

"F-fine!"

The wind blew softly, whispering through the treetops.

"Liar." Matthew glared at him flatly and stared ahead. "We need to fine shelter before night falls."

"B-but… can't we make it to the river and then find shelter?" Alfred insisted, despite looking miserable. "I want to cover as much ground as possible!"

Matthew took one look at Alfred before shaking his head. "You'll be in the second stages of hypothermia by the time we get there-"

There was a hissing shriek, and Matthew found himself being shoved to the snow, a heavy, shivering body on top of him.

"What the-"

Alfred covered Matthew's mouth with his glove-covered hand. "Shh-shhh…!"

Alfred jerked a finger to the far right, pointing out dark, lanky figures off in the distance.

"It's _them_." Alfred rolled off of Matthew. "About… 100 yards away?"

Tony knelt in the snow and chambered a few rounds in fast, efficient succession.

Matthew jerked his scoped hunting rifle off his back. "How many?"

"Four. No- five."

"Too many to get them all at once." Matthew lined his sights up. "I'll need you two to flank them. Tony, move to the opposite of Alfred and fire from tree-cover."

"Right."

Tony merely nodded and moved ahead to the right.

Alfred jumped to his feet, careful of the sound his boots made in the snow, and slung the double-headed ax off his back. He ran through the snow in an arch to the left, trying to keep the loud crunching footsteps to a minimum. The invaders loomed ahead, tearing through a canvas bag and pawing through the objects. Raising the ax blade, Alfred jumped out from behind a tree, embedding the ax into one of the _things_ back with a wet _crunch_. The alien body fell to the snow in a pool of green blood. Ear-piercing shrieks flooded the still, frozen air. The two cracks of distant gunshots sounded, followed by a distinctive third, and three of the invader's chests split open. Alfred yanked his ax from the things chest and turned.

One invader lunged at him; Alfred backpedaled away and instinctively pulled his magnum from the side holster at his waist, firing two rounds into its head. Gasping, Alfred turned to the last invader. At its feet were the remains of the canvas bag, bloodstained and torn to pieces. In its hands was a long knit scarf. The ends frayed from heavy use.

Alfred stared at the fabric and held his breath.

The invader stood deathly still, the scarf hanging loosely in its hands.

The invaders dark, twig-like fingers clung to the soft fabric, touching it and contaminating it with its very presence. The same fabric that was cherished and used every single day. The same fabric that hide the physical scars of the past. The very same fabric that Ivan kept near and dear to his heart. It was something that was never to be separated from him.

_You wonder why I cherish my scarf so much?_ Alfred could still hear the familiar, textured voice questioning him on that one night, so many years ago. _This scarf is as precious to me as your glasses are to you._ The hands clutching the scarf suddenly moved, shoving the fabric to its chest possessively.

"Where did you get that?" Alfred growled suddenly, pointing his gun at the invader's chest. "Where the _fuck_ did you get that?"

The creature shrieked and stepped away, searching for a potential weapon.

"_Who_ the **fuck** did you get that from?" Alfred repeated his question for the third time and fired into the invader's shoulder, his eyes wild with anger. "Drop it, _now_!"

The creature fell to the ground and dropped the scarf, shrieking and clutching its bleeding shoulder.

Alfred grabbed the scarf and stared at it a moment, feeling the thick woolen texture of the length of fabric. _Its Ivan's…it __**has**__ to be his_. Hands trembling, Alfred clenched his fingers into the fabric and raised his magnum to the invader once again.

"Where did you get this!" Alfred shook the scarf at him, eyes blazing in uncontrolled anger. "Tell me!"

The alien hissed a reply, its beady black eyes boring into him.

"Alfred, what's going on?" Matthew's voice came from behind. "What are you holding?"

"This _fucker-_!" Alfred started, jabbing his magnum in the air at the alien. "-Has Ivan's scarf **and** bag!"

"…_What_?" Matthew came to a stop beside him; his rifle still raised and kept aim at the invader. "Are you sure it's his?"

"Yes." Alfred said without pause. "I would recognize this scarf _anywhere_."

_I've seen Ivan wearing it since I first met him…_

"Then he has to be in this area…" Matthew narrowed his cold, steel like gaze at the invader. "…and you're going to tell us where he is."

The alien hissed and spit something from its toothy, garbled mouth at Matthew's chest.

Matthew only raised an eyebrow, his gun never wavering.

Alfred flew forward, grabbing the alien by its short, curling tentacles on the back of its neck and jerked it upward. The alien hissed and shrieked at the contact, scrambling and clawing at Alfred to release him.

"If you don't tell me **where he is**-"

"_Alfred_-!"

"What!" He pointed the gun to the side of the invaders head and jerked his head up to glare at his twin. "I'm not gonna put up with this _shit_!"

"It's obvious it can't speak any of our languages on earth."

"What-? No!" Alfred kicked at the back of the invader's legs and tightening his hold on the alien when he made a particularly hard lunge away from him. "Bullshit! It can understand us! They couldn't have just _stumbled_ upon our planet and attacked on a whim. They had to have listened to us for a while."

Matthew frowned, half his face obscured by the large scope mounted on his rifle. "You really think so?"

"Matthew." Alfred began, his voice suddenly lower and softer. "What if Ivan was captured by them? What if he was with his sisters when it happened?"

Seconds passed before Matthew slowly lowered his rifle. Putting the safety on, he fastened the rifle to his back once more and slide the large hunting knife from the sheath on his thigh.

"Good point." Matthew stepped forward and placed his foot over the end of the delicate limb of the invader. "You're going to tell us where, and whom, you got that from."

The alien puckered its lips to launch another mouth full of saliva at him.

Matthew smashed his foot into the alien's limb, flattening it with a sickening crunch.

A hissing, wet shriek erupted from the invader's mouth.

"Spit at me again and you'll lose _more_ than a limb." Matthew threatened, his voice cold as steel. "You're going to answer my brother's question."

Matthew pressed the knife to the invader's head and slowly drug it across to the tentacles at its neck.

"And if you don't tell us the truth, I'm going to cut off each of these disgustingly sensitive tentacles _one_ by _one_ until you decide to **cooperate**."

The alien wordlessly scribbled "NW" into the snow and pointed.

"Aww what did I say?" Alfred smirked down at the alien. "He cooperated _so well_! I'll have to remember this for future encounters."

The alien trembled and peered at Matthew.

Matthew stared back at the invader, his gaze flat and matter-of-fact.

"Too bad there won't a next time for you."

* * *

"I should've known that **fucker** would lead us here."

Alfred pressed his back to a thick pine and took a quick inventory check of his ammo. Matthew stood opposite of him.

"I have 50 magnum rounds and one magazine left for the rifle."

Tony checked his pockets for extra bullets. "Three magazines."

"…two magazines for the sniper rifle." Matthew sighed, clutching his high-powered rifle to his chest. "That's it."

"_Shit_…" Alfred let his head fall back against the tree. "How many of 'em did you count?"

"Around 50. Not including any that were inside any buildings last I checked."

"Damn." Alfred clenched his teeth and forced a sigh back down his throat. "I refuse to _leave_ him, Mattie."

An hour had passed since they'd stumbled upon the alien outpost, running into a patrol that they'd _taken care_ of silently and easily. Matthew had gone ahead to scout out the camp. It was then that he discovered Ivan, his hands and feet chained, being led by a unit of the alien soldiers to one of the hastily built tent-like compounds.

"That camp is heavily guarded." Matthew explained while picking up a twig and drawing a basic outline of the compound in the snow. "It's surrounded by that weird laser fencing they like to use. They have several patrols and guard towers, one at each corner of the camp."

"Laser fencing needs power. Where are they getting it from?"

"I didn't see anything that might indicate power generators." Matthew frowned. "But wouldn't that mean their tapping off the local power grid?"

"Even if we cut out the power, there's still way to many of them for us to fight against." Alfred grew quiet for a moment. "We'll have to lure them out."

Matthew stared at Alfred for a moment before understanding flooded his eyes. "We could use the bodies of that patrol as bait. Lay them out in the road for them to see."

"They'll check the woods and send out another patrol. And we'll be there to take care of them." Alfred nodded. "It'll have to be quiet and silent."

"I don't like this." Matthew frowned. "They're not stupid, Alfred. They'd catch on that something's happening."

Alfred frowned and leaned back once again. The two remained silent for a long moment.

"Hey," Alfred started, leaning forward once more. "Can you still turn yourself invisible?"

"Of **course** I can." Matthew glared at him. "Don't you still have that absurd strength of yours?"

"I have an idea."

And for the first time in three and a half years, Alfred smiled.

* * *

_Next Chapter:_ America and Canada rescue Russia from the camp.

**Notes:**

Uelen – From Wikipedia: "Located near Cape Dezhnev where the Bering Sea meets the Chukchi Sea, it is the easternmost settlement in Russia and the whole of Eurasia. Uelen is also the closest Russian settlement to the United States. It is on the northeast corner of the Uelen Lagoon, a roughly 15 by 3 km east-west lagoon separated from the ocean by a sandspit."


	2. Chapter 2

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language & violence.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

_**A/n:**_ Just wanted to mention that I edited the last chapter to include more Tony. Sorry about that! :) Also, there are some mature themes/_explicit_ stuff near the end of this (If you know what I mean). I wasn't sure if it was okay to include it from the meme, since I'm not exactly sure how ffnet stands on things like this. Reviews/Comments are love :)

* * *

It didn't take long for them to find him. He lay on the ground, moaning and clutching his sore, bruised belly, courtesy of Matthew, when the patrol came across him. The aliens hissed and chortled to one another, their tooth-filled lips moving and puckering, the tentacles on the backs of their necks twisting and curling in response. After tying his hands together and checking him for weapons, they took him back to the camp, shoving him and jabbing their weapons in his back the entire way.

The entrance to the camp came into view, several aliens and guard towers loomed ahead, along with the green laser fence that softly hummed from its high rate of power consumption. Hissing and chortling surrounded him, the awkward sounds piercing the air.

A loud hissing snort came behind him, and the sharp edge of their guns hit his back.

Remembering Matthew's words echoing through his mind, he bit back a few choice words of profanity and bit his bottom lip.

They gripped his shoulders and steered him towards a smaller, but heavily guarded tent-like building. Upon arriving at the entrance the guards moved aside, one pushing open a solid opaque door. A smaller room opened up, a black desk and foreign, high tech equipment, looking like communication equipment, stood in corners and other areas. Two more guards stood inside. Behind the desk stood an older looking alien, a flowing, silky garment covered its several limbs. And there, in a chair before the desk sat Ivan.

How long had it been since he last saw him? Two… three months before the flash? _Almost… four years?_ And yet it felt as if he'd just seen him yesterday, sitting beside him, forcing Ivan to watch another one of his heroic, end of the world movies. _You never __**did**__ like any of them. But… you would sit beside me and quietly watch anyway._ Something squeezed painfully inside his chest. _And then when the movie ended, I would turn the TV off and we would talk about anything and everything. And then… it was morning, and I was waking up beside you._

Alfred stared at him and drank in his presence.

Ivan sat impossibly still, his back straight and tense. Old tattered military garb covered him, and without the scarf Ivan's pale white neck was visible for all to see. The ancient scars rose from the skin, all webbed and encircling his throat layer after layer. His bound hands were a chain that was tied to his feet, all given little slack to prevent any sudden, fast movements. Alfred forced himself to look away and tried to remain calm and steady.

This lasted all of two seconds.

One of the guards saw Alfred, seeming to recognize him from some earlier encounter, and hissed a shriek of anger. It lunged forward, grabbed him by the head and slammed it to the desk. Dark splotches and stars exploded across his vision.

"Shit!" Alfred shouted in pain and clenched his fists, immediately forgetting Matthew's warning. "What the _fuck_ was that for?"

Alfred blinked the black and white spots away, gasping from the throbbing pain in his temples, and finally noticed Ivan's still form. Violet eyes, impossibly wide, stared at him in complete and utter shock.

Alfred couldn't help but feel a smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. He'd never seen Ivan looking so thoroughly surprised before; always he had a soothing, cool expression that managed to hide everything away.

_Only took an alien invasion and getting my head cracked open to see it-_

Another hissing screech sounded, and Alfred winced at the painful sound.

"_Christ_, would you stop that fucking shrieking?"

Alfred was shoved to his knees by a swift kick, his head still smashed to the side of the table.

A grunt came from the older looking alien behind the desk. The abuse ceased, but he remained on his knees with his head pressed to the table.

The leader grunted, chortled, and hissed to the other guards in the room, all of whom stared at him in rapt attention. The same type of noise kept coming back, kind of wet coughing sound. Every time they said it, one of the guards would look at him.

Glaring, Alfred clenched, unclenched, and clenched his fingers. _I'd give anything to know what their saying…_

A loud hiss erupted from the leader and one of the guards pulled out a sharp knife, the blade dark gray in color, and moved to Alfred. Before he could react, the guard had him by the hair and was jerking his head back, baring the smooth skin of his throat.

Crying out in pain, Alfred's resolve crumbled at the painful yank of his hair, including the cowlick of hair that defied gravity. The absurd strength he always came to rely upon when dealing with the invaders left him as Nantucket was tugged and yanked violently. The guard hauled him up and away from the table. Alfred weakly gave into the shoves and hair pulling, unable to help the painful whimpers escaping his throat. Distantly he heard Ivan's voice, steadily growing in volume, lapsing more and more into his native tongue. Guards grabbed him, doing their best to keep him immobilized.

Alfred cried out again at a particularly hard tug. "Ah- damnit-!"

A second passed, and gunfire exploded. The chest of the alien yanking Alfred by the hair exploded in a spray of black and green liquid. Shrieks and hisses, screams and obscenities flooded the air.

The last gunshot fired, and silence fell.

Alfred lay sprawled on the floor; the alien's many limbs under him. Groaning, he rolled away and with a twist of his wrist, snapped the cord holding his wrists bound together. Reaching up, he touched his head, his scalp burning and aching from the abuse. Alfred looked down and found himself soaked in the bodily fluids of the alien laying beneath him.

"Sorry-!" Matthew started, his voice sounding flustered. "I wanted to see if we could find out anything important that would weaken-"

Matthew paused suddenly and grabbed the heavy table, shoving it against the door and barricading it.

"I hear them outside!"

Alfred staggered to his feet and rushed over to Ivan.

"Are… are you okay?" Alfred whispered, taking hold of Ivan's chains and snapping them apart.

Ivan stared down at Alfred, his violet eyes boring into him. His mouth worked and the muscles in his neck tensed. It looked as if he was fighting to keep himself from hiding his neck away from the world.

"I am fine… do not worry about me."

Alfred nodded, hearing the short, curt tone in Ivan's voice and turned back to Matthew, deciding to talk later and focus on getting out of the camp alive.

_Ivan… you really __**are**__ struggling without your scarf… _

Matthew dug Alfred's two .357 magnum's from the holsters at his waist and gave one to Alfred, the other to Ivan.

"Two extra clips, including whatever ammo you have left in the loaded clip." Matthew kept Alfred's rifle, as his high-powered sniper rifle was un-preferred for close quarters combat. Instead, he held out the ax. "Alfred, do you want to take this-?"

"I would like to use that." Ivan glanced to Alfred. "I will keep the gun but…I prefer using hand held weapons over guns in… close quarter situations."

Alfred glanced to Ivan, unable to help noticing his accent seemed to be much thicker than he remembered. _Has it really been so long since he's spoken English?_

Matthew held out the ax to the elder nation, who took it easily; Ivan tested the weight and feel of the weapon before gripping it tightly and facing the door.

Alfred turned away with a distant smile. _Just like your lead pipe… right?_

Checking his weapon and loading it, Alfred turned and faced the door.

"Ready?" called Matthew.

Ivan merely tightened his grip on the ax. Alfred nodded back.

"Ready."

* * *

It was a blood bath.

Explosions and gunshots, a deafening cacophony of alien shrieks and hisses all flooding the air. The tower guards had long been killed, as well as a majority of the higher ranking officers and other officials. Now only the common guards and regulars remained.

Alfred sat huddled behind a bunch of steel crate-like boxes. Ivan and Matthew had already made it out. He was the last one, trailing behind them in hopes to kill a few more of them when one of the alien's laser-like bullets hit his thigh dead center, making a clean, albeit bloody, break of his right femur. He fell face first into the muddy snow and dragged himself behind cover. Something, whatever the bullets were made of, was still lodged in his leg. Tearing off a long strip of his red shirt, Alfred made a tourniquet and hoped and prayed to all that was holy that he didn't lose his leg. Pulling his gun out, he checked his ammo supply.

Only three rounds.

Alfred peeked around the corner of the box, finding the exit of the compound only twenty feet away.

_Fuck…_ He leaned back against the crate and wondered at his luck. _I was the one supposed to be rescuing Ivan, not the other way around!_

Loud gunshots sounded from the woods. The telltale sounds of the pressurized alien chests exploding reached his ears, and never did it sound so heavenly before. _Matthew must have gotten his sniper rifle from Tony-_

Alfred's thought was cut short at the sound of a burst of gunfire, and Ivan's tall form suddenly half slide, half crashed to the ground beside him.

"W-what are you doing here?" Alfred sputtered. "I can't even stand up!"

Ivan ignored him and stared at the gaping, bloody wound on his leg.

"Ivan, what-"

"Quiet."

Alfred glared at him, not liking the single word answer.

"**Ivan-**"

"Take your gun back and provide cover fire." Ivan shoved Alfred's magnum into his lap.

Before Alfred could question the plan, Ivan thrust his hands under him and hefted him into his arms. Alfred franticly grabbed the gun that threatened to fall and twisted his neck, reaching over Ivan's shoulders to fire at the remaining aliens. In seconds they were in the protective cover of the forest. Ivan's pace slowed down to a fast paced walk. Matthew jumped down from the branch of a tree ahead and rushed over to them. Tony picked up their supplies, including Ivan's torn canvas bag and slung them over his slim shoulders.

"We have to get out of here before they start sending patrols out. I know of an old hunting cabin a few kilometers away. It should provide adequate shelter for a night or two… if it's still there."

"That sounds… good."

Ivan shifted Alfred into a more comfortable position in his arms. Alfred gripped Ivan's shoulder, his face drawn tight in anger at his helplessness.

"Lead the way."

* * *

An hour had passed since they left the camp. The heat of battle and pumping adrenaline wearing off left him feeling sore and exhausted. Matthew carried on ahead, his rifle out and scouting ahead for any hostiles they might run into. Ivan followed behind, putting a safe amount of distance between him and Matthew. Tony walked between them, carrying their supplies and keeping a sharp look out for sudden hostiles.

Alfred pressed his face into Ivan's arm and chest, unable to help inhaling that old, familiar scent that was uniquely him.

_Ivan. Ivan is __**alive**__. He survived the flash._

Alfred let his eyes fall closed as a small wave of relief washed over him. Upon opening them, he found Ivan staring ahead, looking as tense as he was while captured by the invaders. Lowering his eyes, he found Russia's neck still oddly bare, the scarf that normally the scarred, expanse of skin still absent.

Eyes widening, Alfred pulled his face away from Ivan's chest. "Hey- Tony!" Alfred freed his left arm and held it out. "Give me the scarf?"

Ivan paused at the mention of his scarf, staring down at Alfred in surprise.

Tony dug through the canvas bag for a moment before holding the scarf out to him. Alfred took it, and seeing as how Ivan had his arms full, carefully looped it around his neck, hiding away the cream-colored scars and torn flesh, all raised up and surrounding his neck in layers. Threading the scarf around him, Alfred let one end drape over the back of his shoulder, and the other hang before him.

The tension melted away, revealing the calm, level expression that Alfred readily recognized.

Ivan squeezed his fingers, his hold tightening on Alfred's legs and back in silent thanks, seeming unable to vocalize relief at having his scarf returned.

Alfred glared at his useless, bloody leg.

"…You're welcome."

* * *

A flickering light filled his vision. Soft warmth pressed to his back.

Opening his eyes, Alfred found himself lying on a small bed, his legs bare save for the stars and stripes boxers that covered him. Ivan sat in a stool beside his wounded leg, wrapping thick, white gauze around his thigh. Blinking the drowsiness away, he took in the immediate surroundings. They were in a single room, the walls showing the inside an old log-cabin. At the far end of the room was a fireplace built of smooth gray stone, a small fire crackling within.

Alfred let his head fall back into the mattress. "Where are we? What happened…?"

"We are in the hunting cabin." Ivan continued in his wrapping, his eyes never leaving his leg. "You passed out a few hours ago from the blood loss."

"Blood loss…" Alfred raised his arm to rub his eyes, but found more gauze covering the crook of his elbow. "Who gave blood…?"

"Matthew." Ivan paused in his wrapped, leaned down and dug through his bag, picking up another coil of gauze. "Only your brother can donate blood for you. Your body will reject mine."

Alfred closed his eyes, rubbing the sleep from them. "Where is he?"

"Out hunting-"

His eyes flew open in alarm. "By _himself_?"

"Tony went with him."

Ivan continued wrapping his leg, moving the gauze over and under his thigh.

Sighing, Alfred let his hand fall back to the old mattress. Silence stretched on between them as he stared at the sloped ceiling. A thousand questions and thoughts flooded him, but only one rose above the rest. _Ivan is alive._ Something inside his chest squeezed painfully, and he couldn't help but wonder about the others. _Are we __**all **__alive? Did all of us get manage to avoid the initial attack? Or were we the lucky ones?_ Alfred couldn't help but shudder at the thought. _No, I can't think like that! The others… they have to be alive! Japan survived two of them-_ Alfred winced at the memory, a faint stab of guilt hitting his chest _-we're not so easy to kill-_

"You are lucky to be alive, another centimeter and your artery would have been severed." Ivan admitted, filling in the silence with his soft, even voice. "But your femur is fractured… It will take months to heal."

"Months?" Alfred sat up suddenly. "It- that _long_?"

_…The last time I broke my leg it only took a __**week**__ to heal…_

"We are not as strong as we once were." Ivan stated flatly, his tone matter-of-fact. "I thought you would know this by now."

"I do, it's just-!" Alfred slouched, visibly wilting. "I can't do _shit_ when I'm like this. I can't walk and I would only slow you and Matthew down and… and…" Alfred trailed off, noticing Ivan staring at him. "What?"

Ivan broke eye contact momentarily, his violet gaze falling away. He threw the remains of the coiled bandaging material into his bag and picked it up off the floor.

"What?" Alfred asked again, suspicion filling him. "Why are you acting so…" _…so __**weird**__?_ "And-… what were you doing out in the Yukon wilderness?"

Ivan turned away and stepped across the room to the wooden table, where he dropped his bag.

"_What_…?" Alfred ground out, impatience filling him. "**Ivan**-?"

"Why didn't you return my call?"

"Your call?" Confusion filled him. "What call?"

"The _call_, the-…" Ivan turned to face him, struggling with the English words. "…the message-"

"…are you talking about the text message?"

"_Yes._" Ivan stated as if that explained everything.

Alfred narrowed his eyes in thought, trying to think back to that fateful evening.

"…That was…I-" Realization slammed into him, feeling as if he'd been dunked in icy water. "Ivan…"

_…you thought I was still in Washington when the flash happened…_

"Because I never answered back… you thought I was still…?"

"Everyone thinks you're dead." Ivan stated quietly, his violet gaze boring into him. "You and Matthew both."

"Everyone?" Alfred couldn't keep the hopeful undertone from his voice. "You mean the others… their okay? Everyone in Asia and Europe and…?"

"…Mostly."

His heart fell at the single word. "Mostly?" Alfred parroted, dread surrounding him. "What do you mean, _mostly_?"

"Those of _us_ that were close to the equator… were over run." Ivan managed. "Many of the others sustained injuries from the flash."

"Then… Brazil and, and…Kenya…and… no. That can't be right, they wouldn't just…" Alfred clenched the blanket lying under him. "What about New Zealand? Australia?"

_Mexico… even though you and I wanted to strangle each other more often than not… I hope your okay._

"We were… unable to travel so far south without heavy risks." Ivan stepped towards him. "We don't know."

"Why are there so _many_ of them further south?" Alfred demanded suddenly, his face twisted in anger.

"Climate conditions… Germany did a…" Ivan paused for a moment, his face looking lost before clearing. "An autopsy on one of _them_ and found they could not… handle cold weather like humans."

"Everyone thinks I'm dead?" Alfred repeated again, coming back to Ivan's previous words. "…_Everyone_?"

"Well… nearly." Ivan picked up the stool and dragged it to Alfred's bedside. "Yekaterina… she didn't believe your brother was dead. England didn't believe you were gone either."

"England?" Alfred gasped at the sound of his older brother. "He's okay?"

"…Mostly." Ivan answered, his tone cryptic. "He said you would never pull _'an all-nighter'_."

A smile blossomed on Alfred's face, a breathless chuckle escaping his lips.

"That… that sounds like him." Alfred's smile glazed over in sadness. "Matthew and I have been so isolated since this happened. How are things over there?"

Ivan sat in the stool. "After the attack, an international truce was declared… all of us are working together. The some rail systems are working, under heavy guard, but… communications are still down. A lot of the technology we are using is very outdated…" Ivan trailed off, his voice growing soft. "The others wondered about you and the others over here… but they decided trying to contact the you and the others posed too many risks."

Alfred swallowed the lump back down his throat. _It makes sense… they would have to cross an ocean to get over here. And with those damn aliens…_

Alfred met his stare, the two growing silent and simply taking each other in. Reaching to him, Alfred lifted his right hand to Ivan's chest, feeling the hardened muscle and pushed it upwards, carefully skipping over his neck, sliding it over his jaw to cup his cheek. Ivan leaned into the touch and turned his face into palm, running his lips across the calloused skin. Ivan lifted his hand and slid his fingers up Alfred's forearm to the wrist, encircling his fingers around it, clutching it tightly as if Alfred might disappear and fade away.

"I'm not going anywhere." Alfred admitted, his voice breathless. Pressing his left hand into the mattress, he tried sitting up. "I can't even stand up."

Ivan pressed his palm to Alfred's chest and softly, gently, pushed him back down. "I thought you were dead."

"Liar." Alfred frowned at him. "You wouldn't have crossed the Bering Strait if you thought that."

"I..._expected_ your death." Ivan ran his hand up Alfred's chest, dragging his nails up the smooth expanse of the Alfred's throat to tangle themselves into his blonde hair. "I _hoped_ I was wrong."

A deep shudder ran through Alfred, leaving him breathless at the touch. "I knew you weren't dead-" Ivan leaned down and pressed his lips to Alfred's neck. "I-…" Alfred gasped when Ivan found the sensitive spot where his neck and shoulders met; the elder nations lips pressed in a wet, open-mouthed kiss. "-never believed it-" Ivan slid his lips up Alfred's neck, kissing and suckling until Alfred turned his head and mashed their lips together.

The kiss opened and deepened in a matter of seconds, each using their tongues' to explore the other's mouth, slowly and carefully reacquainting themselves. Alfred wrapped his arms around Ivan's neck, reveling in his closeness, the taste of his mouth and the smell of his hair. Ivan leaned forward, slowly inching onto the mattress. Alfred tore his lips away with a gasp, but Ivan simply melded his lips to his neck, kissing and suckling at the delicate skin of the throat. Alfred gasped when he felt teeth pinch at the skin below the lobe of his ear.

"S' been too long-" Alfred purred, biting his lower lip.

Ivan sucked his earlobe through his lips, only grunting in response.

"Ahh-" Alfred hissed, feeling the teeth grazing across the fleshy lobe. "Ivan- wait-"

Ivan pulled away, but kept his face close to Alfred's.

"Wait?" he echoed, narrowing his violet eyes in response.

"As much as I would _love_ to continue-" Alfred touched the side of his face, dragging his fingers past his temple and into his hair. "-we have to be careful. Matthew could walk in at any moment."

"They won't be back until sundown."

"Sundown? But-"

"We have time."

Ivan ran his fingers through Alfred's hair, silently relishing the feel of the soft, short wheat-colored locks.

"Uh…I'm sorry, but maybe you've _forgotten_-?"Alfred stared at him and couldn't help but feel angry at his reddening cheeks. "-that I can't even _lift_ my leg, much less-…"

Ivan stopped dragging his fingers across the other's scalp, and felt the corners of his mouth tug upward.

"…that never stopped you before."

:.:.:.:.:.:

Alfred pulled away and gasped, his hips jerking upward despite the throbbing emanating from his broken leg. Two hands clenched his hips and shoved them into the mattress, the wet heat never leaving _him_.

"Ahh-" Alfred choked, but kept his hands jerking and tugging at Ivan's arousal, which happened to be positioned directly overhead. "I-…I'm gonna-"

Ivan's mouth left him, and Alfred nearly whimpered at the loss.

"Not _yet_-" Ivan's heated voice came from where Alfred's crotch was. "Surely it hasn't been **that** long?"

Alfred paused, taking in the jab at his self-control, and frowned. "I could say the same to you." And he squeezed his arousal, earning a choked, half-grunt, half moan. "…I thought so."

The two of them were still fully dressed, save for Alfred being pant-less and the front of his boxers shoved down to reveal his arousal.

Before Ivan could resume, Alfred peeled his hands away from the mattress and dug his fingers into the other's hips, pulling them closer to him. The head of Ivan's length pushed past his lips, rubbing over his tongue and sliding down his throat. Alfred hummed and twisted his mouth from side to side, causing it to rub over his curling tongue. He slid his right hand around the base, squeezing and tugging while keeping Ivan's jerking hips under control.

A low moan filled the air before the hot, and the wet heat returned to Alfred's arousal, suckling and licking and grazing his teeth over the him and-

Alfred grew still and gasped a moan. Tearing his hands away from Ivan, he dug them into the sheets, afraid of losing his self control over his strength.

_Not yet-_ Alfred lifted his head up, suckling Ivan's length down his throat. _Not yet-!_

Ivan moaned around him, the deep rumbling vibrations surrounding and enveloping his arousal, the electric sensations shooting up his spine.

Alfred froze, his muscles locking up as pulled away with a choked gasp. "Ahh-! **Fuck**…_Ivan_-…"

A keening whimper, and Alfred tensed, his spine locking up until he relaxed against the ancient mattress

Gasping, Alfred engulfed Ivan's arousal back inside his mouth. The muscles of his mouth and neck working him deeper and deeper down his throat, suckling and lucking and twisting his mouth around the hardness, running his tongue over the vein that ran on the underside of his length and-

A groan, choked and gasping, flooded the air and Ivan's essence coated his tongue and the inside of his mouth. Alfred took it all until Ivan was spent, swallowing it.

Alfred wrinkled his face in distaste, gasping from the activity and smacking his lips. Ivan moved off the bed, carefully avoiding his injured leg. He reached down and tucked himself back inside his clothing, buttoning and zipping everything back up and moved across the room to where his bag lay, digging inside it for something.

Alfred reached down tucked himself back inside his boxers.

Ivan pulled out a flask and unscrewed the lid, swallowed and crossed the room to Alfred, holding the flask to him.

"Is it vodka?" Alfred asked, eyeing it wearily. "Cause I don't know if I can handle alcohol like that, seeing as how I haven't had hard liquor for over three years and-"

"It's water."

Alfred, grateful, took it and swallowed a mouthful, handing it back to him.

Ivan screwed the cap back on and turned to the table when Alfred, on a whim, shot his arm out, grabbing the side of Ivan's tattered military coat.

"Stay…?"

Ivan looked down at him, his eyes bright with surprise. He relaxed after a moment and, with a tiny, ghost of a smile, sat in the stool at Alfred's bedside, setting the flask on the floor.

Alfred grasped Ivan's hand and wove their fingers together, relishing the cool touch of his skin and his comforting presence at his side.

_You crossed the Bering Strait… all on a hope that I was alive…?_

Cheeks burning, Alfred turned his gaze away, hating himself for the weakness.

Ivan's thumb rubbed at the center of his palm in a calm, comforting motion.

Alfred slowly turned back to Ivan when he was unable to get the raging heat in his face under control.

"I missed you." The words tumbled from his mouth, unable to stop them.

_I love you._

Ivan squeezed his hand and leaned down, pressing his lips to Alfred's in a chaste kiss.

"I missed you too."

* * *

_Next Chapter:_ The four come across a gruesome reality from the invasion and start traveling the _Top of the World_ highway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language & violence.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

* * *

_Early January_

Christmas and New Years passed with little fanfare, much like the past three years. Instead of being with Tony, he now had Matthew and Ivan for additional company. _And I'm glad they're here._ Before the flash, he'd have spent the past month obsessing over shopping, gift giving, and finding the perfect cards for other nations.

_Now my only resolution is that I survive another year._

They had celebrated Christmas twice, as Ivan's Christmas wasn't until after New Years. Matthew had made coffee for everyone, having found rare coffee beans in an abandoned pantry. The beans were chopped, not ground, and were boiled in a pot until the liquid was as black as volcanic ash. The brew was poured, unfiltered, into three tin cups. It was gritty, toe-curling bitter, and unrefined. It was the _best_ cup of coffee Alfred had ever had.

For Matthew, Ivan had given him a tiny glass bottle of maple syrup he discovered in an empty restaurant. Matthew grasped it and smiled, unable to help in unscrewing the cap and dabbing a bit of the thick liquid onto his finger, which he promptly licked away. For Alfred, Ivan produced a pair of crutches, something Alfred had been longing for since he broke his leg a month ago. He took them with a glowing smile, running his fingers along the length of metal and plastic.

Alfred, being unable to do any searching in the abandoned homes and cabins they came across, decided to put his musical talent to work in playing music for them, via an old violin Matthew had found in a home found just off the highway.

"Can you play it?" Matthew asked, staring worriedly at the instrument. "It looks pretty old."

Alfred poured over the instrument, examining the strings and carefully tuning each one. "It'll play… but it'll be out of tune. Is that okay?"

Matthew smiled reassuringly. "It's been three and a half years since we've heard any music, Alfred."

Ivan remained silent, choosing to nurse his steaming cup of coffee.

Alfred raised the fiddle to the crook of his neck and practiced a few notes, wincing badly. "Just to warn you… I learned to play this from my pioneers and immigrants a couple hundred years ago so-"

"You're fine, stop worrying." Ivan stated after taking a sip of his coffee.

"Well… okay."

Alfred glanced between the two of them.

"Any requests?"

* * *

"I think there's a home up this gravel road." Matthew paused, his feet scuffing against the pavement. "We're running low on supplies."

"Can't it wait?" Alfred breathed, finally coming to a stop with his crutches. "We could get to the next place by tomorrow morning if we hurry."

After traveling through the wilderness for months, hitting smaller two lane roads and other dirt passages, they came across the North Klondike Highway. Matthew decided to take them north to Dawson (2) in hopes of finding any humans and resupplying.

"It would be wise to check." Ivan admitted. "Dawson might be overrun by _them_."

"Right." Matthew glanced to Alfred, his eyes flat. "We can't keep living off of rabbits and weeds."

"…Yeah. Okay."

_Canned vegetables would be nice, canned fruit would be even better, if it hasn't already spoiled._

Alfred nodded and the group headed up the road.

One half hour later, and the four arrived at a two story cabin that might have once been a lovely family home. After three and a half years of neglect, the house was in shambles. The windows were all shattered, the paint peeling, wood splintering and any revealed metal was slowly being eaten away by rust. The door to the garage was wide open, revealing a smaller sports car. The other side of the garage was empty, and the vehicle, an older truck, was at the opposite end of the yard, smashed into a tree. Inside the truck were the remains of a human male. Underneath it were the dead bodies of three aliens.

Alfred stared at the truck, and noticed the tracks from the tires were fresh, the snow torn up and disturbed.

_It's been snowing for days._ Alfred glanced around, finding thick snow drifts piled against the sides of the house. _Those tracks would be covered in only a few hours._

Ivan moved ahead and stepped closer to the truck, noticing the same troubling signs.

"This truck is smoking." Ivan declared, walking to the front of the smashed vehicle. "The radiator is still warm."

Alfred stared at the truck and glanced back to the house. _I don't like this._ He looked around, the area around the house cleared of any trees. _We're out in the open. Any of those damn aliens could be hiding in the tree's and we wouldn't even know it._

Matthew gripped Alfred's rifle, staring at the smashed truck. An uneasy look was plastered across his face.

"Something's wrong." Alfred finally admitted and, gripping his crutches, stepping through the snow to Matthew. "…I don't like this."

The feeling in the air was something Alfred had felt many times before in the war's he'd fought in. A deadly stillness that hide the sharp surprise of danger.

Gunshots erupted from the house, shattering the silent, deathly still air surrounding the home. The telltale, inhuman shriek of alien's came from inside the house. Following the shrieks were human shouts, one growing louder and more bloodcurdling with each passing second. Matthew rushed to the house, kicking the already destroyed door open, Ivan following after him. More shouts and shrieks followed, until the human screams fell silent. More gunshots erupted and the distant, barely audible voice of his brother came from inside.

Alfred cursed his broken leg for the nth time and slowly hobbled across the yard until he came to the porch steps, Tony following close behind with Alfred's two magnum's in either hand, never leaving his side. Carefully, Alfred supported his injured right leg with the crutches while he moved his left leg up to the step. Using his uninjured leg, he stepped upward, repeating the same, achingly slow process until he came to the front door.

"America!" Ivan called from inside the house. "Get in here."

Alfred jumped at the sound of his formal name. Matthew had refrained from using it, as the nuclear fallout in their major cities, directly after the attack, had weakened them to an almost human-like state. He had followed suit, deciding their real, informal names were best for now.

"C-coming!" Alfred slowly made his way into the demolished house. "It's going to take me a minute-"

"Hurry." Ivan appeared at the top of the stairs. "It's Canada."

"_What_?" Alfred's voice hitched, worry flooded him. "Is he hurt?"

_Now Matthew's formal title?_

"…Yes." Ivan's voice changed, the soft tone grew harder, more serious. "Get up here, America."

_My formal name again?_ Alfred stared at him and slowly limped up the stairs, his thigh starting to throb. _Is there a reason for calling me that?_

Finally making it to the top of the stairs, he moved down the hall, noticing bullet holes littering the walls, and came to a doorway. He stepped through, finding it to be a little girl's room, the walls pastel blue with pink and white butterflies painted randomly. More bullet holes covered the walls, along with the splatter of human and alien blood. On the floor rested four more aliens, their chests and heats splayed open from gunshots. In the corner of the room was a twin bed, with two children laying limp and bloodied, their soft chests and bellies utterly mangled and shredded.

Matthew sat at the end of the bed, still clutching his rifle with one hand, the other touching the little girl's bloody, matted hair with quivering fingers. Alfred took in a deep calming breath, and immediately regretted it. The thick, pungent smell of blood slammed into his face and flooded his nose.

Alfred swallowed and hobbled into the room, setting his mouth straight and his eyes hard.

"…Canada."

His brother stared at the children, one of them still clutching a gun to its chest.

"They… they were children." Canada whispered with great effort, lapsing between French to English. "_Children_."

"Yes." America gripped his crutches in anger, the light metal and plastic creaked in protest. "They were."

Canada touched the head of the little girl and ran his fingers across her forehead and over her empty, glassy eyes, pushing her eyelids closed. He continued to run his fingers down, smearing blood away from her two pale lips.

"They fought so hard…" Canada's voice was even and soft, despite the slight tremble taking hold in his hands. "…So hard to survive."

America glanced around the room, finding bullet holes littering the pastel blue and pink walls. The children had fought back, but fear caused their aim to go astray. It was a scene he came across many times in his journey north. Searching abandoned homes and finding families, sometimes only two members', and other times huge multigenerational families, dead with their weapons still clutched in their hands. The impact always left a hole gaping wide inside him, feeling as if it was carved out of his chest, amid the other horrid burns, scars and gouging wounds.

_You knew you'd find this._ America wanted to say to his twin. _You __**knew**__ this was happening. You can feel it, all the time. Our people are slowly being killed off by the invaders… _

"Canada." America said, shoving the brutally honest words away from his mind, and moved across the room, kicking the dead bodies of the aliens away. "They deserve a proper burial."

Canada blinked and dropped the rifle to the floor. Sucking in a breath, he held his hand to his face, clenching his jaw tight.

"Right." He said after a moment. He pulled his hand from his face, his fingers coming away wet. "You're right."

Canada stood, his face drawn in grief. "I-…I'll start digging."

America watched his brother leave, not having the heart to remind him that the ground would be close to frozen solid at this time of year.

Russia emerged in the doorway, his violet gaze flickering over the gruesome sight.

"This… this is what the old wars were like." Russia admitted, his voice soft. "The invasions and slaughtering of your people…"

America swallowed at the lump forming in his throat and stared at Russia, feeling every bit of his 450 years of age.

"You younger nations in the new world…" Russia trailed of, unable to continue.

"I know." America sighed, straightening. "I-…I'd better clean them up. At least. Could you… get some water and towels?"

"That would be best."

Russia nodded and turned away, retreating down the hall.

America stood alone in the room, staring at the remains of the invaders on the floor. Anger coiled in his gut, growing into a tight ball and wedging itself in his chest.

"You _fuckers_-"

America let the heated anger fill him.

"-Are going to **regret** underestimating us."

* * *

Two days passed since the _incident_.

America stared at Canada's back as he trudged along up the snow covered highway. Neither had spoken to each other since the burial. His citizens were resting in peace. To his secret pleasure, the dead aliens lying under the truck and in the bedroom were now a burnt scorch mark in the home's driveway. But, the small amount of pleasure it gave him wasn't enough to make the empty hole in his chest go away.

America suspected it was the same for Canada.

He pushed ahead, shoved his crutches into the snow, swung forward, and took a step with his good leg, repeat.

_I wonder… If Canada and I are still here… than most of our people must be alive._ America thought of the empty homes and tiny empty towns he came across. _Have they gathered to protect themselves? Did any military bases survive the initial attack?_

"Up ahead is Stewarts crossing*." Canada announced. "Once we cross the bridge-… the bridge is gone."

Canada stopped mid-step and stared up the highway at the bridge. The middle portion looked as if it had been blown away.

"Gone?" America echoed. "Who did it? The aliens?"

Russia stood between them, choosing to remain silent.

"I doubt it was the invaders." Canada peered at the bridge, frowning. "It must have been humans. Maybe the people in Dawson are okay?"

"The river's frozen over," America started, his tone hopeful. "Could we walk across?"

"I don't know…" Canada started. "It's too risky. We could fall through and-…"

"I will take a look." Russia began and started down the steep banks to the river's edge.

America started in surprise. "But-!"

"I have done this many times, America." Russia stated calmly without turning to make eye contact. "And if I fall through, the cold will not affect me."

America moved to stand beside his twin, Tony following.

Russia moved down the bank to the river's edge, taking slow, careful steps to prevent losing his footing. Upon making it to the narrow river bank, he knelt on the rocket terrain and pressed his left hand flat to the ice. Pushing and running his hand in a circle, Russia studied the ice before standing. Taking a step forward, he slowly put weight on the foot, testing its strength before taking another step, then another. Snow covering the ice, and Russia smeared it away with his foot. He took another three steps forward, this time walking normally.

Pausing, Russia turned around and beckoned them to follow.

Canada turned to America. "Guess that means the ice is stable."

America nodded and he followed Canada to the hill-side riverbank. Clutching his crutches, he stared at the steep, rocky incline and inwardly cursed.

"There's no way I'm walking down on my feet." America carefully steadied on his good leg, and carefully lowered himself to the ground until he was sitting on his rear with his legs stretched out before him. "I'll have to slide down on my ass…"

_…and possibly tear open a hole in the seat of my __**only pair**__ of blue jeans. Damnit._

Tony took America's crutches with an annoyed expression. "_Fucking_ broken leg."

"Exactly!" America spat and scooted forward. "Fucking broken leg!"

Tony nodded in agreement.

Canada only shook his head with a rueful smile and started down the rocky bank first.

* * *

Abandoned homes and buildings started coming into view as they neared Dawson. More roads, some dirt, some paved, started branching off to other areas. Snow covered fields lay on either side of the road, the river to the left, roads and trees to the right. The road curved, following the line of the river before curving to the opposite when the town suddenly opened up, revealing a neat spread of homes and commercial buildings.

Directly ahead lay a road block, consisting of overturned cars and layers of barbed wire, tall make-shift fencing made of scrap materials continued on to surround the town. Armed men and women stood at the gate, all of them looking like law enforcement but with differing uniforms, almost as if they came from different areas. A young teenager stood talking to two of the armed officers.

Canada stared at the boy with widening eyes.

"Hey…" America started, peering at the boy. "Isn't that-?"

"Yukon!" Canada smiled and started a faster pace. "He's alive!"

Russia glanced to America, a question resting in his gaze. America smiled back and came to a stop at Russia's side, Tony following shortly after.

"It's one of Canada's provinces- wait, Territory." America shrugged, blue eyes twinkling. "I think."

Russia hummed and turned his gaze back to Canada, who was now hugging and clutching the smaller boy to him.

"They are like our own children… but not." Russia admitted. "It is… interesting how they just suddenly appear."

"Yeah… you have them too, right?" America asked. "I wonder… if my states are okay?"

"They are fine." Russia stated confidently. "Just as mine are fine."

Canada finally peeled himself away from the boy and waved at them, beckoning them over to join them.

America smiled, taking in the welcoming sight despite the quivering, quaking in his gut.

"I hope your right."

"…And after the major cities and towns were destroyed, I followed some people here and… here I am." The young, teenage boy finished while leading them through the town. "A lot of people came after the major cities and towns were destroyed or overrun… we've taken everyone in. It's been hard keeping a steady supply of food coming in, so… we ration during the winter months."

"You've done well." Canada squeezed the boys shoulder with a smile, relief pouring off him. "Have you managed to hear from the others?"

Yukon continued walking down the empty street, homes and commercial buildings on either side.

"The phones are out completely. Using the radios are too risky, thanks to the alien's monitoring the channels, Gasoline is scarce…so we're back to the horse and messenger until we get something better." Yukon sighed and slowed to a stop, turning around to face them. "I was able to get in touch with British Colombia and Alaska-"

"You… you talked to Alaska?" America sputtered, a tight feeling filling his chest. "He…he's…?" _…He's Alive?_ "Where was he? What did he say?"

America stepped forward, nearly tripping in his excitement. Canada grasped his shoulders to steady him.

"He came here to see if a barter-driven trade route could be established…" Yukon blinked at him, his dark brown, almost black hair was long and shaggy, his skin sun-kissed and element hardened. "He said all the major cities and towns in his state were either destroyed or overrun. He said that… he was going to be staying at Delta Junction, he kept saying he had to take some Fort back-"

"Fort Greely?" America nearly gasped, digging his fingers into the plastic hand grips of his crutches. "Those invaders never… blew it up? Then, what about the Air Force base-"

"I don't know. He never mentioned anything about an Air Force Base…" Yukon's dark eyes grew worried. "He only said that they were trying to get the Fort back and he needed to trade for extra supplies. We weren't able to give much…"

_Alaska's alive… he's __**alive**__._

America forced a smile to his face.

"Thank you for the information, Yukon."

America sat in the crowded lobby of the town's visitor's center. Sitting with his legs spread before him, he cupped a bowl of hot chicken broth and dipped a piece of stale bread from his pack into the liquid. The bread soaked the broth up like a sponge, and he stuffed the soggy bread into his mouth, relishing the taste. He almost wept at the savory flavor, rolling it over his tongue and around his mouth before finally swallowing. After eating rabbit and weeds for weeks on end, the bread and broth was heaven in his mouth.

He almost wept at the exploding flavor still lingering on his tongue.

Russia and Tony sat on either side of him, and dipping their own bread chunks into the broth. Due to low supplies, the three of them shared a moderately sized bowl. Tony pulled his soaked bread piece away and sucked the broth from it before stuffing it into his tiny mouth. A low hum came from him, and his eyes narrowed in pleasure. Russia ate his bread and broth slowly, savoring every bite.

"This… is _so_ good." America breathed, and picked up a metal spoon from his pack. "The last time I was this happy over chicken broth and bread was…was…"

"World War Two." Russia sighed softly, not wanting the other humans nearby to hear.

"…Yeah." America answered just as quietly.

America brought a spoon full of broth to his lips, quietly sucking it past his lips, over his tongue and down his throat.

"Do you think Canada can get us a snow mobile?"

"…No." Russia stated quietly, still finishing his bread.

"We'll have to cross the ice and travel on foot." America sighed and dipped his spoon into the broth once more. "We'll have to get enough supplies to last us…"

_The Top of the World highway*… we'll be crossing it in the winter._ America sipped the broth from the spoon. _We'll need special shoes, plenty of ammo and canned food supplies… _

"We should wait for the warmer months." Russia admitted. "Your broken leg… we'll have to find a sled for you. Your crutches will be useless in the snow pack."

"We can't wait for summer." America insisted. "If we wait, then by the time we start crossing your country it'll be winter again."

_…I can't wait that long. Not if Alaska is fighting to survive. I have to see him… I have to make sure he's okay._

America clutched the bowl, his fingers digging into the white and blue-stripped ceramic bowl.

_If I'm sitting here while those… fucking __**aliens**__ are fighting him… or… __**killing**__ him…_

Russia stared at the bowl, at America's fingers, and lifted his hands to pluck the bowl from America's quivering fingers. America turned a surprised look to him, confused and accusatory.

"You were going to break the bowl, and the broth would be on our clothes and blankets." Russia stated flatly.

"Oh." America turned away, startled. "…Yeah."

He let his hands fall on his lap, his former appetite gone.

Tony stared at America, then turned to glare at Russia. Moving from America's side, he moved around and continued to dip his spoon into the broth, sipping it delicately.

"Fucking commie." Tony spat, glaring at him with his black eyes. "Fucking ridiculous! Piece of shit."

Russia stared at Tony, his violet gaze slowly narrowing.

Tony glared back.

America grabbed the bowl from them and yanked Tony back to the empty spot beside him.

"Hah! Tony~ you're such a joker!" America plastered a smile on his face and tried to ignore the dirty looks he was receiving from the parents of small children littered across the room, along with Russia's intense glower.

Tony's voice steadily raised in volume, growing high pitched and ear piercing. "Not joking, stupid fucking-!"

"Not, _now_." America growled through clenched teeth and held the bowl of broth up so both Tony and Russia could reach it equally. "Remember what I _said_ about **Ivan**, Tony?"

Tony turned his glare onto America. "…Pu, pu!"

America sighed and held the bowl out to Tony, who took it with relish.

"Look," America turned to meet Russia's angry glare. "You have understand, Tony and I first met in the 50s. Remember those days? I was really, really paranoid and kind of a little crazy-"

"A little?"

"You have no room to talk." America grew defensive at the sarcasm in Russia's voice. "Tony learned to talk by listening to me and-"

"So he's repeating what you said about me?"

"I- No- You can't tell me you never said things like that behind my back."

"…and what if I didn't?"

"Then you're lying."

Russia fixed his violet stare onto America's flat, blue-eyed glare.

"Really?" Russia asked, his voice soft. "You believe that?"

"Really?" America quirked an eyebrow at him. "You expect me to believe that you never said _anything_ negative about me behind my back? That's rich."

America turned away and yanked the bowl from Tony, who was close to slurping the contents directly from the bowl. "Hey, I didn't say you could have it all!"

"Pu, pu!"

Russia felt silent, studying America's interactions with his alien friend before turning away, the anger in his gaze growing dull with disappointment.

* * *

Two and a half months.

That was how long Canada estimated it would take them to travel the entire length of the Top of the World Highway, merging onto the Alaska Highway, and finally making it to Delta Junction. Two and a half months of nothing but traveling through the snow and wilderness.

_Two and a half months of rationing food and slowly freezing to death…_

The air stood frozen, tree branches covered in snow and ice crystals. The sky was blessedly clear of low-lying clouds, marking the first time in days when snow wasn't falling.

America lay on a plain wooden sled, blankets and nylon tarps covering him. A blue scarf was wrapped around his neck, mouth, and nose, keeping the knit cap firmly covering his head. Covering his eyes were yellow tinted ski goggles. Thick cloth straps tied him to the sled, keeping his injured leg from moving or from sliding off altogether. At his head and feet were cloth and plastic bags of supplies. Canned food and dried meat, along with extra ammo and fire-making supplies. At his feet were the blankets, cookery, and the tent. Lying on his stomach was his own sleeping bag. Russia and Canada carried their own, along with their weapons and personal belongings.

A nylon rope was tied to the wooden sled, directly behind America's head, and giving a couple arm lengths of clearance, was tied off in a loop. Russia had his arm threaded through the loop, stopping at the shoulder. Both Canada and Russia took turns pulling the sled, changing every hour or two. Tony lingered back by the sled, taking up the rear, and kept a watchful eye for predator's that might follow.

America hated it.

Never had he felt so utterly useless. His leg was still healing and thanks to the thick snow pack, was reduced to being tied to a sled and being dragged. _I used to heal a broken leg in days… A week if I was in an economic recession… and now it takes me almost the same amount of time to heal as it does a human._ America sighed through the blue scarf covering his mouth and nose, and decided to turn his focus back to the little project he took up.

Clutching a knife and a block of wood, America pressed the blade to one edge and carved a chip away, letting it fall on his stomach. It was nice to focus on a mindless activity, one that kept his focus, but didn't require a lot of thinking.

Days were passed in carving and making small talk with Tony. Russia and Canada focused on covering as much ground as possible, trading off in pulling the sled and keeping a watchful eye for any wild animals, or hostiles. Camp was made upon sunset, a fire struck and the tent pitched. America helped as much as he could without getting in the way. Mostly it was in cooking and setting the sleeping bags up.

After three days the same routines slowly grew mindless.

_Lay on the sled. Keep self occupied for eleven hours. Prepare dinner and bedding. Make small talk. Sleep._

A boiling pot of homemade stew filled the air. Meat from an animal Canada had shot earlier was thrown in, along with some freeze-dried vegetables procured from Yukon's secret stash. They ate in silence and the four of them squeezed into the two-person tent. The minute Tony, Canada and Russia lay down they instantly fell into a deep sleep, snores of varying degree filling the silence. America, on the other hand, stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed and bored. Sighing, he carefully extracted himself from the pile of bodies and crawled out of the tent, dragging his woolen blanket with him.

Stars filled the sky in the thousands, the pin-pricks of light spreading from one horizon to the other, coming together in a brilliant band that stretched over head. Green and blue light danced across the sky, flowing, moving together and pulling apart all at once. Smiling, he focused on the stars, finding the constellations he grew up with. _Orion's belt… the Great Bear… Leo the Lion…England's favorite…_ America's smile slowly curled into a frown. _England… I hope your okay. I hope you're healthy and strong… I hope you're not hurt or injured…_

America gripped the blanket, trying to force his worrying thoughts away and let the light of the stars and aurora borealis wash over him, lighting up the snow like a painter's canvas.

_England is strong and independent. He's bound to be fine. _America stared at the snow. _Just like all the others._

The dull ache bored into his chest. A silent reminder that was always present and never fading. A reminder from his people that were still fighting for their freedom, still surviving for their loved ones, still existing in a world torn apart by the invasion, still keeping with the hope of liberation… America pressed his fingers to the spot, the muscle felt spongy and sore. The huge cities he came to love and beam with pride in were gone. The bustling economic center of New York, the cultural hub of Los Angeles, the glamor of Hollywood, the historic national capital that held the monuments to the men and women who fought and died in war, tributes to his most beloved presidents, the fragile document that was his birthright-

_I can't. I can't think about that!_

America pressed his hands to his face, taking in a deep breath, relishing the burn that the frigid, arctic air caused.

He spent the next few hours huddled on the snow, only his broken leg stretched out before him. His eyes studied and picked out stars and planets, galaxies and other space phenomena. It was probably one of the few things he could truly lose himself in. Learning and studying space, sending robots and satellites to planets, learning all about them. The fascination he held for other worldly exploration and knowledge was shared by many, but the only one who truly matched his level of curiosity was Russia. Sitting out under the stars, naming as many as they could, sharing their knowledge and love for the universe that stretched over head.

The love for knowledge that England fostered when, on that fateful night hundreds of years ago, he sat out with him in the garden and named the stars in which he used to navigate when sailing the high seas.

…

..

_"Yekaterina… she didn't believe your brother was dead. England didn't believe you were gone either."_

_"England?" Alfred gasped at the sound of his older brother. "He's okay?"_

_"…Mostly." Ivan answered, his tone cryptic. "He said you would never pull 'an all-nighter'."_

..

…

_England…_ America slid his hands away from his face and stared into the star-lit night sky. _Brother… I feel so lost. Should I travel across the world to establish communications… or should I stay with my people? I wish you were here._

The stars twinkled back at him; the smooth, flowing colorful arches of light danced across the sky.

A yawn crawled up his throat, and he slowly dragged himself back to the tent, making sure to keep his broken leg prone. His former empty spot had vanished, with Tony taking up most of it. Carefully, America jammed his left hand under Tony's smaller body, lifting him up and away, sliding himself back to the tiny sliver of room directly beside Russia, who was now laying on his side facing him. Zipping the tent shut behind him, America half crawled, half drug himself to press into Russia's warm chest and abdomen. The taller nation sighed and wrapped his arm around America, curling it around his waist and pressing his face into his hair, still fast asleep. A soft sigh escaped his lips, his warm breath touching the back of his head and neck.

America couldn't help but smile, secretly relishing the elder nation's unconscious, possessive touch, and let the warmth radiating from Russia's embrace fill him.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** America struggles with using _dated technology_, and the group gets ambushed by an alien patrol.

Extra Notes

_"Pu, pu!"_ – If you listen to the Japanese drama cds, it's a sound Tony makes when he's angry or flustered. (Please correct me if I'm wrong!)

_Dawson (City?), YT (Yukon Territory) Canada_ – A town that sits close to the Alaskan/US border. I chose it randomly, and most of the physical descriptions and buildings I got from travel websites and satellite images (I Google).

_Top of the World HWY _– From : "The Top of the World Highway (Hwy #9) is a transportation route located west of Dawson City, Yukon Territory, Canada. The highway route connects Canada with the USA. It is a preferred route for sightseeing because it enjoys wilderness scenery, high elevations reaching 4127 feet and sees very little traffic."

_Stewarts Crossing_ – A bridge crossing Stewart River just outside of Dawson City(?).


	4. Chapter 4

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language & violence.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

* * *

Mid-February

America sat hunched over a tiny mirror compact inside the tent. A small bowl of soapy water stood to the side. Slowly, carefully, he pressed the blade of the straight-edge to his face and scraped it across his cheek in tiny increments.

"Ah!" America hissed and dropped the knife to the bowl of steaming hot water. "Shit!"

A tiny cut beaded with blood, and America dabbed at it with a white cloth.

Russia stared at the younger nation out of the corner of his eye, the corners of his mouth curling upward in amusement. "Need help?"

"I can shave just fine!" America exclaimed, his tone growing defensive. "Just because I haven't shaved with a straight-edge razor in over 60 years…"

"I _prefer_ the straight-edge." Russia packed his belongings away, rolling his sleeping back up. "It gives a closer shave than the modern electric ones."

"My electric razor worked perfectly, thank you very much." America rinsed the razor in the water and pulled the cloth away once the cut stopped bleeding. "I never heard any complaining from you."

Russia stared at him, the corner's of his mouth curling upward in amusement.

America brought the straight-edge back to his cheek and scraped the edge against the grain of hair's growing from his cheeks, jaw-line and neck.

"Shh-!" America threw the razor the bowl of water, cursing at the new bleeding cut. "Damnit!"

Russia moved across the tent and reached for the razor, plucking it from the bowl of steaming, soapy water.

"You are doing it all wrong."

America dabbed the white cloth at the new cut, dark red splotches all over the once clean, pristine rag.

"It's just been a while, Russia." America glanced at him, his eyes lingering on the glistening blade. "I'll remember-"

"Let me shave your face."

America paused suddenly, his eyes fixed on the blade. "I don't want you to."

"Why?" Russia leaned closer and stared at the hand clutching the bloody white rag. "_Obviously_ you need some help."

"Because." America edged away. "I just… I want to be the one shaving. With the razor blade."

"You don't trust me." Russia grew still and frowned. "You don't trust me with this blade."

"No!"

"Then why are you staring at it?"

America tore his gaze away from the blade, refocusing back to Russia. "Because I want it back."

Russia's calm gaze suddenly narrowed into a glare.

"Okay!" America nearly shouted. "I'm sorry! But- it's just that… the last time you were holding a blade like that was-"

"A long time ago."

"-And I _know_ that, but… you have to remember where **I'm coming from**-"

"You don't trust me." Russia continued to glare at him, his violet eyes narrowing in anger, but softening in disappointment.

"No-…I-…" America stuttered at Russia's hurt glare, before pausing a moment and taking in a calming breath. "I trust you."

"No you don't." Russia frowned, shrinking away. "You're lying."

"I am not!" America exclaimed, looking insulted that he even suggested such a thing. "I'm not lying!"

"You don't trust me."

America hesitated a moment before a determined stare took hold of his intense blue-eyed gaze. "I trust you."

With that, he crawled forward, dragging his right leg, and lay down with his head in Russia's lap. Reaching for the bowl of steaming hot water, he moved it so that it sat beside Russia's left thigh.

"Show me how to properly shave with a straight-edge."

Russia blinked down at him owlishly, hesitating for a moment before the anger melted away. Reaching for the bloodied rag, he carefully shook the dust and dirt from the cloth and submerged it into the bowl, letting it soak up the hot water. After lifting the cloth and squeezing the excess water free, he wrapped the cloth around America's neck, jaw line and face.

"First, you must soften the skin with something like this." Russia let the towel sit for a minute, and started sharpening the blade on a leather strap procured from his canvas bag. "And normally this is when you would put the shave gel on, but since we don't have any… soapy water will have to do."

Russia took the towel off and carefully dripped the cloudy, soapy water onto America's face. Setting the bowl back down, Russia place the blade inside it and pressed his fingers to America's face, rubbing the soap across his cheeks and upper lip, over his jaw and across his neck. America sighed and felt his eyes dropping at the ministrations.

The soap lathered a bit at the rubbing, and Russia picked the razor blade back up and pressed it flat against America's cheek.

"Rule number one. Never shave against the grain."

"…I _knew_ that."

"Then why were you doing it?"

America looked away, cheeks turning pink in embarrassment.

"You either shave _with_ the grain, or across. But never against." Russia scraped the blade across America's cheek in short, slow strokes. "I recommend using a new blade for every shave but… we'll make due just fine with this one."

Pressing his fingers to the opposite side of America's face, he turned his head as he shaved, the lingering touches burning into his skin. America forced his face to remain neutral. Russia's fingers pressing to his right temple, his muscular thigh underneath his neck, the soft, warm breaths caressing his face. Russia moved his fingers from his temple and touched his jaw.

"Tilt your head back."

America complied, his senses feeling foggy, and moved his head back to reveal the smooth, delicate skin of his throat. The heated blade pressed to his throat, and scraped across, clearing the hair away. Russia moved the blade from one hand to the other, starting on the opposite side of his face now. America listened to his every request, reveling in the attention he lavished on him… the sound of Russia's calm breathing, the smell of him all around, the warmth of him under his head and touching his face, smoothing and caressing the aches away.

Russia's presence surrounded him and kept the cold, harsh arctic hazards away. Kept the dread and worry, suspicions and fears from filling him. He felt whole and new again, here in Russia's lap, under his delicate, soft, caring ministrations.

It was always like this whenever he held Russia's undivided attention. Those intense violet eyes burning into him, peeling away the layers he wrapped around himself. America _knew_ that Russia realized it was all, mostly, show and the layers he surrounded himself in. The loud, oblivious, and arrogant person he made himself to be. He knew it was all an act, just as his soft voice and childish way of speaking was also an act. They did it on purpose, to others and to each other out of their own sense of amusement. America felt he could be on equal ground with Russia, and instead of being afraid under his undivided attention, he felt alive. His body burning and feeling electrified all at once under that intense gaze.

"America."

America didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay on the floor and keep his head on Russia's thigh. He wanted those skilled fingers to continue beyond his face, to his back and chest and-

"_America~_"

America opened his eyes. Russia was staring down at him, his violet gaze shining in mirthful amusement.

"I am finished. You may get up now."

America blinked at him.

"Already?"

Russia stared at him, looking like he was fighting to keep his face neutral.

"You have been asleep for ten minutes."

America gaped at him, mouth dropping open and eyes widening.

Russia, finally unable to control himself, smirked widely.

"Unfortunately, you missed the last half of the **lesson**." Russia still smiled, but narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. "I'm afraid we'll have to do this again, _comrade_."

America shivered at the low, textured voice and smirked, his blue eyes vibrant in excitement.

"I look forward to it."

* * *

Late February

America knew the minute they crossed the border into Alaska. The mountains, the forests, the animals and the pockets of towns, roads and cities… the lay of the land suddenly became familiar. He knew exactly where they were in Alaska.

Canada stopped suddenly and turned back to where America lay on the sled.

"Well, we're finally in Alaska." Canada declared, turning back to face Russia, Tony and America. "America…?"

America sat up on the sled, moving his bedroll behind him to prop his back up. "Just keep heading west, follow the curve of the next mountain."

Canada nodded and started trudging ahead once more, only now he used a compass hanging from his neck instead of the deep, innate sense of direction that was available if he were in his homeland. It was something all the nations had. If they were in their own country, they didn't need a compass, maps, fancy GPS units to tell them how to get from point A to point B in their own county. They just knew where and how to go. It was a gut feeling, an unconscious familiarity that was set deep in the back of their minds.

America breathed in the air and smiled. _I thought we'd never get here._ America clutched the knife and block of wood he'd been carving. It started out as something unknown, having not planned what the end product might be. As time passed, the block of wood slowly morphed into that of a moose, Alaska's state animal. Having finished the legs, America started on the final part. The heavy set of antlers adorning the animal's head.

_Alaska…I hope your okay._

America glanced to Russia, who was pulling the sled with the rope looped around his left shoulder.

_Russia… you'll want to see him too, won't you? Since he used to be yours all those years ago…_

Closing his eyes, America thought that day long ago. A small, pale boy with midnight black hair, soft and thick, _just like Russia's_, and how he used to have pale violet eyes… but after becoming a state, they slowly turned a pale blue. The boy was tiny when America first took him in and helped him meet his _brothers and sisters_… they all loved him so. America remembered how tiny he was… how he'd barely come to his knees when he first took him in. Now he was nearly as tall as him.

_Alaska… I hope you won't do anything stupid before I get there.

* * *

_

"Well?" America sat inside the tent early one morning. Russia knelt beside him, un-wrapping the bandages from his leg and removing the wooden brace. Canada and Tony were outside cooking breakfast and preparing the sled for another day of travel.

"Do you think it's healed?"

Russia remained silent and continued to un-wrap the bandages until America's bare thigh was revealed. The skin smooth, save for the creamy, round scar left behind. He removed the steri strips that kept the wound closed tight in place of the stitches Russia did. Pressing his fingers to his leg, Russia felt the muscles and ligaments, starting at the knee and carefully moving his fingers up, checking the placement of the femur, until he came to the side of the fracture. Russia carefully pressed his fingers on either side.

"Tell me if you feel pain."

"Nothing so far."

America felt giddy. _Please, please, __**please**__…let it be healed._

Russia continued to run his fingers over his leg, poking and prodding, feeling for something America wasn't quite sure was there.

"Well?"America asked again. "Is it healed?"

Russia pulled his hands away. "…It… _feels_ healed, but without having an x-ray done… I can't know for sure."

"But it feels okay, right?"

"If I'm wrong, the bone will break _again_ and it will take twice as long to heal." Russia frowned at him. "One more week."

"What? No!" America gawked at him. "It's _healed_, Russia. It doesn't even hurt!"

"You will stay off this leg for another week." Russia pressed the wooden brace back into place and started re-wrapping his leg.

"No- damnit, Ivan-!" America tried pulling away, but Russia shoved him to the ground and sat on his waist, facing away. "Hey! Mattie-!"

"Listen to Ivan, _Alfred_." Canada's voice came from outside the tent. "He knows what he's doing."

"It's been more than two months since I broke the damn thing!" America wriggled under Russia's weight. "It _has_ to be healed!"

"Alfred if I have to _come in there_-"

A muffled gasp came from Tony, and the sound of two bodies hitting the snow erupted from outside. Gunshots erupted.

"Shit!" Canada exclaimed in a hushed whisper. "Where is my _rifle_-"

"Who is it?" Russia asked, his voice soft but deadly serious. "Is it _them_?"

"A whole group of 'em in the tree-line." Canada's voice was soft, sounds of him shuffling around in the snow and digging through the bags outside filled the air. "There's a lot of them. Maybe 9-…10?"

Russia quickly re-wrapped America's leg, tying it off above the leg and slid off America's waist. "Stay here."

"No-!" America argued in a strained whisper, reaching for his magnum. "I'm not gonna stay here and _sit on my ass_ while you guys are out killing them."

"_America_-" Russia nearly growled. "You can't even walk. Stay here while we deal with this."

"Wait-!"

Russia left the tent, zipping it shut behind him.

"Fuck!" America dragged himself across the tent, cursing and damning the alien who shot his leg to pieces. "I'll be damned if I stay here and allow you guys to _defend_ me…"

He attacked the bandages on his leg, un-wrapping the brace and throwing it away. Snatching his pants from his bedroll, he pulled them on before jamming his boots onto his feet.

America gripped the zipper, ignoring the explosion of gunshots that pierced the once calm, pristine arctic air. He yanked on the zipper, but found it stayed in place.

_What the hell?_

America yanked on the zipper again, and realized Russia must have jammed it or done something else to keep it from opening again.

_I didn't want to do this but-…"_

Yanking on the zipper on final time, America forced it to move, effectively breaking it in the process and tearing a small hole in the door.

_I'll fix it later._

The gunshots sounded further away as America crawled outside the tent, magnum in hand. Russia, Canada and Tony were gone. Glancing about, America found fresh footsteps leading away from camp and into the tree-line. Red splotches of blood spattered the snow.

_Blood? Who was shot?_ America swallowed the lump down his throat and crawled to the sled. _My leg is healed. I __**know**__ it is. It doesn't even take a __**human**__ two and a half months to heal a broken leg…_

Finally reaching the sled, America gripped the wooden edge and slowly, carefully pushed himself up to his knees, leaving the weight on his good left knee. Taking a deep calming breath, he slowly, carefully, put weight on his right knee. Feeling pain free, America put the remaining weight on his leg. A relieved, nearly giddy smile spread across his face. An invisible weight lifted from his shoulders.

_Healed. It's __**healed**__. Finally…_

Pushing himself to his feet, America dug through the bags, finding all the weapons gone. Frowning, he checked the ammo clip in his magnum.

_Four rounds…shit-_

All sounds of gunfire came to an abrupt end.

Pausing, America listened intently, but only the distant sound of the hissing chortling came from the trees. Cursing, he shoved the bags off the sled and picked up the ax. Holding it tightly, he started running through the snow and hid behind the nearest tree. Peeking around the edge, he found the aliens to be further into the tree-line than he originally thought. He dashed from tree to tree, using them as cover as he went further into the forest. A clearing opened up ahead, revealing a tent-like structure of alien build. Frowning, America moved closer, keeping behind the trees.

Beyond the tent knelt Russia, Canada and Tony at gunpoint, their hands raised and pressed to the backs of their heads'. The aliens stood all around them, three of them keeping a cattle-prod type weapon pressed to their back.

"I can't move my legs-" Canada murmured to Tony. "Why-?"

"…something to our spinal cords…?" Russia whispered so softly that America would hardly hear him.

He studied the group. There seemed to be six aliens now instead of ten. _I only have four rounds… if I aim well, there'll still be two more to deal with-_

A hissing screech erupted and America jerked his head around. A seventh alien stood nearby, carrying several bags from their camp. America raised his magnum and fired, sending a round directly into the thing's head. More screams came from the camp. America turned around, finding four more aliens rushing into the trees after him.

_Where the fuck are they all coming from!_

America aimed and fired in quick succession, each bullet finding its mark in either their chests or heads. Sickening wet gurgles came from the wounded alien's as they fell to the ground, dark green liquid spurting and staining the snow. Throwing the useless, empty gun to the snow, America gripped the double-headed ax, raised it over his head and flung it at the alien as if it were a tomahawk. The ax spun and sliced through the air with a metallic hiss until it slammed into the aliens' chest, nearly cleaving him in two. Rushing to the dead body, America pressed his left boot to the alien and yanked the blade from its chest.

"Alfred-!" Canada's shout came from the clearing. "Their all in the tent-! Ten more-!"

His voice cut off with a pained shout. America strained his hearing, but only shuffling footsteps and the hissing grunts came.

_Ten more of them!_ America hid behind a tree and peeked around, trying to see through the trees and into the clearing. _I can't take them all out with this ax, I need something more…_

He glanced around, trying to find something, anything to help him. A tree, looking half dead, stood a few yards away. Glancing back to the clearing, aliens started heading into the forest, their guns held out before them, ready to fire at a moment's notice. America stepped into the shadows, his fingers tightening around the wooden handle of the ax. Turning away, he rushed to the dead tree, stepping lightly and trying to keep his boots from causing too much noise from the snow. Gripping a dead tree branch, he counted to three and tore it off the trunk. Cracking, splitting wood cut through the still air. Ignoring the hissing screeches, America tore off two more and dashed through the woods, making his way around the clearing to the opposite side.

Upon finding a good spot, America dropped two branched to the snow, including his ax. Raising his left leg, he slammed the branch to his thigh, splitting it in two, leaving the ends sharpened to a point. Glancing back around the tree, America spied into the clearing.

_Just as I thought._ America smirked. _They left the three aliens alone to go after me… leaving them defenseless._

Stepping away from the tree, America hefted the two branches of wood into the air, one in each hand. Setting his aim, America took a few steps back, and then rushed forward, flinging the sharp, wooden branch through the air as if it were a spear. The branch flew and impaled the chest of the alien holding Russia. It crumpled to the ground, dropping the cattle prod type weapon. The minute the thing was off his back, Russia sprung to his feet, picked up the steel pole, spun on his heel to the alien holding Canada hostage, and slammed it across its neck, snapping it instantly. Canada struggled to his feet, his face bloody, and rushed to the tent, bursting through the door and disappearing inside. Russia quickly took off after the third alien, picking up the second pole, slamming one into its chest, while the other struck it across its face. Tony jumped up after the alien crumpled to the ground and rushed after Canada.

America, having made sure the other's got free, picked up the other branches. Snapping them in two, he rushed through the trees, feeling something fill his chest and throb in excitement for the first time in months. The feel of his feet pounding into the snow. The weight of the ax and tree branches in his hands. The burn of the arctic air filling his lungs. The cold air mingling with the sweat on his forehead and neck, giving a pleasant electric feeling that rushed through him. His leg was healed, there were aliens to kill, and they were on his home turf.

Never had he felt more alive before.

America spied the aliens in a group up ahead, studying the tree he tore the branches off earlier, all chortling and hissing to each other, the tentacles on their necks curling and twisting. Dropping one of the tree branches to the snow, he lunged forward and flung the wooden projectile through the air, where it landed with a solid, wet thunk into the chest of one alien. The others screeched in surprise and fled the dead alien body. His mouth stretched into a narrow grin, and he sprung forward, flinging the other wooden branch at another alien when Russia appeared to the right side of the group, flanking them. Raising the two steel poles, Russia wielded the pipes with ease, cracking one on an alien's head and crushing another's neck. Canada and Tony appeared shortly after with the confiscated guns, aiming and firing with expert accuracy. America clenched the ax and rushed ahead. He raised it and flung it again, where it landing into an alien's chest.

Wet screeches, hissing, gunfire flooded the air, the sounds all familiar. America couldn't help but grin and let the thrill of combat and sheer joy of _movement_ fill him. No longer chained to his crutches or the sled, he could move freely without worry. Rushing forward, he raised the ax once more and flung it through the air, where it twirled and landed into the chest of an alien, cleaving its upper torso in two. Springing from the bushes, America gripped the ax and yanked it from the chest before dodging an attack by another alien who tried to club America over the head with the butt of its gun. Raising his left fist, he slammed it into the other alien's face, sending him sprawling away and slamming into a tree.

The aliens, sensing their odds, turned and fled through the woods. Canada and Tony picked them off, killing the remains of the group in seconds.

The stench of alien blood filled the air, along with sweat and the soft gasps from Russia and America. Moments passed before Canada and Tony joined them to stand in the carnage.

"It was a drop zone." Canada admitted, pressing a rag to his bloodied face. "They had communications equipment and maps of the area in the tent, all of them marking Delta Junction."

America frowned. "They were going to try and attack on the undefended front…a flanking maneuver…" America stared at Canada in worry, noticing the white rag growing dark with blood. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Canada said quickly. "It's just… I think they broke my nose when I shouted at you…"

Worry and guilt flooded him. America stepped to him, dropping the ax to the snow, and reached for the rag. Canada shied away, glaring at him.

"I'm _fine_-"

"You're bleeding all over the place!" America exclaimed. "Besides, I have to check if it's broken."

"I've had broken noses _before_, **Alfred**-"

"Yeah, yeah, you and your hockey riots." America rolled his eyes and reached for the rag again. "But who was the one who _always_ bailed you out of jail and fixed you up afterwards?"

Canada glared at him, and finally put the rag away. America peered at his face, his eyes widening in fascination, looking like a child burning ants on the sidewalk with a magnifying glass.

"Yep. It's broken." America admitted. "Want me to fix it?"

Canada wiped the blood streaming from his nose and managed an annoyed eye-roll amid the bloody carnage of dead aliens.

"Please."

America reached for the nose, pressing his other hand to the back of Canada's head.

"Ready? One-"

"Don't count _down_!" Canada glared at him. "I _hate_ it when you do that."

America stared at him, looking hurt for a moment. "Okay." And he snapped the nose back into place.

Canada clutched America's shoulders and shouted in pain. Groaning, he pressed the cloth back to his bleeding nose, pinched the nostrils shut and dipped his head forward.

America rubbed Canada's back comfortingly.

"You didn't listen to me." Russia appeared opposite of America, still holding one of the steel poles in his hand. "I told you to stay in the tent."

"Since when have I _ever_ listened to you?"

"You are lucky you didn't re-break your leg."

"My leg is fine!"

"_Your_ assumption."

"If it was up to you, I would've been stuck in the cast for another month!" America snapped, his blue eyed glare growing sharp with anger. "I _know my own body_, I don't need you telling me what to do."

"I wasn't telling you to do anything-"

"That's right, you weren't! You were _forcing me_ back into that brace-"

"It was out of concern for the health of your leg, Ameri_ka_."

"…_Don't you start_ with me."

Russia's violet gaze grew frigid. "Start what?"

America sucked in a breath, his mouth opening to tell Russia _exactly_ what he was starting when Canada suddenly straightened and gripped America by the shoulder.

"We have more important things to be doing than arguing over _nonsensical __**shit**_." Canada dragged America back to camp. "I need you to help me with my nose anyway."

Russia watched the twin's retreat, his mouth pressed to a thin line. Tony stood beside him, stabbing the barrel of his gun to the head of a dead alien.

"Fucking Alfred." Tony snapped, kicking the invader's head for good measure. "Doesn't know his fucking limits, Pu pu!"

Russia turned to Tony with a raised brow, his gaze filled with surprise.

Tony turned to meet his surprised stare, his black eyes narrowing.

"You're still a fucking commie."

Russia could only sigh in response.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** America and Russia have a _talk_, and the group finally meets Alaska.

Extra Notes

_Delta Junction_ – From Wikipedia: "**Delta Junction** is a city in the Southeast Fairbanks Census Area, Alaska, United States. According to 2005 Census Bureau estimates, the population of the city is 897.[1] The city is located a short distance south of the confluence of the Delta River with the Tanana River, which is at Big Delta. It is about 160 km (99 miles) south of Fairbanks." It's also the final stop of the Alaska Highway.

_Alaska Highway_ – From Wikipedia: "The **Alaska Highway** (also known as the **Alaskan Highway**, **Alaska-Canadian Highway**, or **ALCAN Highway**) was constructed during World War II and connects the contiguous U.S. to Alaska through Canada. It runs from Dawson Creek, British Columbia to Delta Junction, Alaska, via Whitehorse, Yukon. Completed in 1943, it was 2,237 km or 1,390 mi long, but is becoming shorter due to rerouting.[1] The historic end of the highway is near milepost 1422,[1] where it meets the Richardson Highway in Delta Junction, Alaska, about 160 km (99 mi) southeast of Fairbanks."

_Flanking Maneuver_ – Just in case someone was confused about this, I decided to include it in the notes :). Also from Wikipedia: "In military tactics, a **flanking maneuver**, also called a **flank attack**, is an attack on the sides of an opposing force. If a flanking maneuver succeeds, the opposing force would be surrounded from two or more directions, which significantly reduces the maneuverability of the outflanked force and its ability to defend itself. A psychological advantage may also be present, as flank forces usually do not expect to be attacked."

**Other Stuff** – Just to make it clear, I'll try and make this as geographically accurate as possible (or as accurate as the internet can be), but once we get into Asia and Europe, I'll probably be more vague as I'll be focusing more on story/plot/character interaction than on traveling (I'll do my best though). Also, one of the reviewers brought up a good point about Tony being alien, but other humans not freaking out about him. The reason why I did this was because in the anime, America is shown taking Tony with him to go shopping, and neither of them worry very much about humans seeing him. Since this anime is cracky/humorous anyway, I figured I'll keep it him same as he is in the anime. Also, the reason why Tony dislikes Russia is because America first met Tony in the 50s (that's when the infamous "Roswell Crash" occurred) and if you know how crazy and paranoid America was in general during the 50s, I figured it would really rub off on Tony, even after everything returned to _normal_. (Or as normal as it can get).

Sorry for the super-long author's note! I just wanted to get some things off my chest.


	5. Chapter 5

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language & violence.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

* * *

Early March

America stood inside the pantry of an abandoned home. Moving boxes and long rotted food, now half-frozen from the weather, for any canned goods they might use.

The journey across the Top of the World highway was a long one, but they finally made it to the Alaska Highway, which would lead them to where _Alexei_ was. While traveling the new route, they stopped in the abandoned, half destroyed town of _Tok_ for supplies. Their food supply was nearly gone, despite the rationing, and the large stores of ammo they held were completely depleted. Without guns, they had to use old fashioned traps and blunt weapons, Russia and Canada with the newly acquired pipes, and America with the ax.

A can of barbequed beans came into view, the can larger in diameter and height than normal. Grinning, America grasped the can and checked it over, looking for any dents or puncture holes. Finding none, he brought it up to his ear and shook it, finding the contents sloshing about like normal. He threw the can into his bag and continued his search, hoping to find any kind of preserved or canned fruit. It had been weeks since they'd had some of the sweet, vitamin packed goodness. Finding nothing else, America stepped away and walked over to the open doorway that led to the basement. Stepping down the stairs, America peered into the darkness, finding Russia shuffling through the broken furniture, empty cans, and other garbage. America pushed the strewn garbage away with his booted feet after stepping down the rest of the stairs,.

"Find anything?"

Russia continued his thorough search in silence, not turning back to meet America's gaze.

America frowned at him.

"Russia-… _Ivan…_…" He pushed more garbage aside, trying to make his way across the dark basement. "We can't _do this_… not now when… when all of _this shit_ is going on…"

Ivan paused in his search, clenching the side of an empty wooden bookcase. Alfred peered at him through the darkness and held his breath.

He didn't want to fight with him. Not over something as stupid as his former broken leg... he thought of the angry words he'd yelled at him a few days earlier. A pang of guilt struck him directly in the chest.

_I just… I wanted that damn brace off so bad… I wanted to walk and run again, to freely go where I please instead of being stuck to that fucking sled…_

It had felt so good… Finally getting free of the sled and his crutches. Finally walking on his own two feet. Finally being an equal part of the _team_ instead of depending on the others for help all the time. _Independence…_it was something he valued over everything else. It was his lifeblood, his essence, something he'd fought for, bled for… something he'd sacrificed everything to have. Including the relationship with his _older brother_. When his leg was broken, that independence was gone. He couldn't walk without the others constantly checking on him, and god forbid the snow be thick enough to make his crutches useless. He couldn't fight, couldn't help carry his own baggage, couldn't even get dressed in the morning without Matthew or Ivan helping.

He'd hated every minute of it.

_I won't apologize… because I meant every word._

He dropped his bags to the floor and closed the distance between them. His arms curled around Ivan's waist and he pressed himself against his back, resting his head against his shoulder blades and the back of his neck. Ivan didn't move, the muscles of his back and arms tensing.

"Please…" Alfred demanded softly. "We can't do this…**I** don't want this…"

Ivan's hand dropped from the bookcase and fell to Alfred's hands that were clenched together at his lower abdomen. He caressed the hands, the gloved fingers running over the wrist, dragging across the knuckles and weaving into the clenching fingers. He breathed in the frigid, moist air of the basement and slowly turned around.

Alfred stepped away, moving to give him room, but Ivan was having none of that. His hands clutched Alfred's shoulders and pulled him into his warm embrace. Alfred melted at the feel of Ivan wrapping his arms around him. He rested his head on Ivan's chest, nestling his head just under his jaw. Ivan turned his face to Alfred's hair, brushing his lips across the other's temple and forehead.

It wasn't too long ago that the thought of hugging Ivan sent a frozen shudder down his spine. Having those arms around him, those hands touching him and clutching him to his chest… the same hands that he'd fought against, the fingers clenched into fists and shooting out at his face during one of their many fist-fights that erupted in meetings of the past… now it left warmth that coiled in his chest, filling him to the brim, threatening to spill over. These strong, weathered, scarred hands that held him softly, delicately, pushing the weight of worries and dreadful feelings away.

"You… are the only one who can infuriate me with… so few words…"

Alfred couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. The feel and smell of Ivan all around him left him feeling like a pool of goo, his muscles like jelly, and his mouth feeling loose. After going three and a half years of not seeing him… thinking him dead… and now having him standing right before him, his arms surrounding him and drawing him into his warm embrace… he couldn't help but feel a curl of relief once again.

"And you're the only one who's seen me like this…to have _all_ of me…" Alfred mumbled into Ivan's chest, admitting something he'd kept hidden away. "One of the few… who could ever really…" _…emotionally…_

Ivan turned his head to him, but Alfred kept his face buried in his chest.

"…Really?"

Ivan couldn't contain the surprise that filtered into his voice.

"…Yes."

Alfred bit his tongue and felt heat flooding his cheeks, despite his best efforts to control it. He'd always been one to blush easily… but secretly felt happy that his twin was the same way.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Ivan whispered, surprise still in his tone. "I…I would've gone slower… I… always wondered why…"

"It's embarrassing."

Alfred kept his face buried in Ivan's chest and silently thanked all that was holy for the darkness that surrounded them.

Ivan picked his head up from its resting spot atop Alfred's forehead.

"I'm glad."

Alfred couldn't help the amused snort, and pulled away from the embrace. Ivan's hands slid away from his back, but they moved to clench America's upper arms.

"No-" Ivan's voice turned serious. "Not like _that_…not…" He paused a moment, struggling with his English. "I'm glad it… you still enjoyed it. Despite the… pain."

Alfred paused, the amusement fled, leaving him feeling somber.

"I'm glad…" Ivan's fingers clenched and squeezed his arms. "I'm glad it…I hope it… wasn't like mine-… that it wasn't…"

A quivering sigh escape his lips.

Alfred peered at him through the darkness. He remembered the scars around Ivan's neck that he kept hidden away, the mentions of his troubled childhood…the invasions…

"No, no…" Alfred brought his hands up to clench Ivan's shoulders. "It wasn't like that… it was never like that. I…I wanted it."

The large hands loosened their grip. They caressed the area they had squeezed in an apologetic fashion.

Alfred smiled at him through the darkness, raising a hand to caress Ivan's cheek.

"I'm glad it was you."

The hands paused in their caressing. Seconds passed before the small, barely audible answer came.

"…me too."

* * *

It was obvious when they were close to Delta junction. Echoing gunfire and explosions sounded in the distance. Thick, black plumes of smoke rose in the air. The intense fires a molten glow.

The town was closed off to a include only half of buildings in the town, all surrounded by a high fence made from any and all available supplies. Wrecked cars, scrap metal, tangled barbed wire... the only way in and out being a narrow opening to the north. Humans dragging a wagon filled with boxes and bags entered the northern gate. Makeshift guard towers stood on the rooftops, many firing at the alien's who came too close to the fencing. Directly south of the town was Fort Greely. The invaders had a camp built in the large open fields, including the laser fencing and the tent-like buildings. Small ships landed on the airstrip of the base, unloading supplies and extra soldiers.

Turning his gaze back to the town, America felt worry coiling within him.

"Seems' the only entrance is the northern one." Canada admitted softly, and squeezed America's shoulder. "Let's find Alaska."

America nodded, gripping his ax, and shifted the loop of rope that was connected to the sled on his shoulder.

They trudged on, moving off the highway and through the snow, entering abandoned yards and crossing empty, half destroyed playgrounds. In the distance lay Delta River, its wide expanse filled with ice, once smooth, but now broken up in large chunks. Curving around the destroyed civilian airport directly north of the town, they crossed back onto the highway and turned south, heading for the only entrance. Two guards each dressed in law enforcement uniforms and clutching semi-automatic rifles stopped them. America showed them the ax and dropped it to the ground, un-looping his arm from the rope and walked towards them, Canada, Russia and Tony remained behind. For the first time in nearly four years, he dug into his back-pocket where his forgotten wallet was stuffed.

"Sorry for the suspicion," admitted one of the officers. "But we're required to check… bosses orders."

America raised a brow. _Boss…Alaska?_

"Okay…" America dug through his wallet, still stuffed with plastic cards and greenbacks, now all mostly useless. Finally, he found his official I.D., and hoped the officer's were high enough in the command chain to know who he was. "Here ya go."

The older officer took it, studying it for a moment before surprise flooded him. "Oh…oh!" He gave the I.D. back, his eyes wide behind the yellow-tinted sunglasses. "I didn't realize-…he, uh… _Alaska_ thought you were in Washington and…well he'll be happy to see you. Sir."

America smiled and tucked his identification card back into the wallet, stuffing it back into the pocket. The officer peered around him to look at Russia, Canada and Tony. America met his eyes.

"They're with me."

"Right…well let's get this gate open."

America nodded and turned around, heading back to the sled. Picking up the rope, he wove his arm back through the loop.

"Why did they check for an ID?" Canada asked. "It's obvious we're not the enemy."

"Not sure." America shrugged, confusion filling him. "Seem's Alaska ordered them to start checking."

"…What if it had been my civilians seeking refuge? What if you didn't have your wallet still?"

"I doubt they'd turn anyone away, Mattie." America turned back to the gate, now cracked open, and started walking towards it. "But…I'll have to talk to Alaska about it…"

They entered the gates, finding the streets mostly empty, save for people rebuilding or fixing the varied plethora of commercial and residential buildings. The wagon from earlier was sitting in front of a large commercial building, looking like it may have once been a store front, given the large glass windows that were mostly blown out and shattered. People unloaded the wagon, carrying boxes and bags full of _something_ and carrying it all into the building. Beside the wagon stood an older man scribbling something onto a dirtied piece of notebook. Beside him stood a young teenager, his skin pale as snow, hair a dark midnight black, soft and thick all at once. A large white coat covered him, looking handmade from caribou fur. He looked small next to the older, bearded man.

"A…Alex?" America called, unable to help the breathless hopeful tone of voice.

The boy paused and slowly turned around, his pale-blue eyes widening in surprise. "…A-…America?"

America dropped the rope and rushed to Alaska, wrapped his arms around him and picking him up. Alaska hugged back, smiling and laughing in relief. After a moment, America dropped the smaller teen to the ground, who them peered around him to see the others.

"Canada and Tony?" Alaska grinned. "When I visited Yukon I didn't hear anything from him… "

Tony only huffed and crossed his arms.

Canada smiled, happy to see the young state in good health. "He told us you visited when we came across him in Dawson."

Russia crossed the distance to stand beside America, gazing down at the smaller teen. "Alexei…you are doing well?"

Alaska smiled up at Russia. "Yeah…I guess. About as well as I can be with all this going on…"

He waved to the buildings, the guards, and the general chaos.

"Here, let's go to my home and I'll fill all of you in on what's happening."

Alaska took them to a large residential house and walked them through the home, leading them to the basement.

"Four other families live in the first and second floors, so I stay in the basement." He turned to Russia and Canada, a nervous smile spreading across his face. "I have some condensed soup saved away in the pantry if you want to heat it up. The stove works."

Russia and Canada glanced to each other, a silent conversation going between them.

"Of course, Alexei." Russia squeezed the boys shoulder. "We will save you some."

Alaska smiled back, relief flooding his face before America tugged him away and down the stairs to the basement.

The room was large and open, a small bed and a bookcase fit into one corner, boxes and bins full of varied supplies filled the other two, and a desk littered with maps, papers and pencils stood in the remaining space. America walked around, checking the ceiling and windows. Alaska stood by the desk.

"Seem's safe enough…" America jiggled a tiny window, finding it nailed shut, the glass covered by wooden boards. "What happened?"

"Well…" Alaska moved a wooden chair to the desk and fell into it with a sigh. "I was up north, checking on the remote villages when… it _happened_. With flying or driving out of the question, I used a team of sled dogs and made my way south after waking up…"

America moved back to the desk. "Damage?"

Silence passed. Alaska sighed and leaned forward, picking up a chipped, scratched pencil. "Anchorage, Fairbanks, Sitka, Wasilla, Kenai… all leveled."

America's mouth dropped open. "Nuclear?"

"No." Alaska circled a spot on the map that was south of their current position. "Only Juneau was nuclear."

"Well…" America pressed a hand to the desk, leaning against it. "That's better than the states in the lower 48…"

Alaska breathed in a shaky, quivering breath. "Nearly all the airports were bombed save for the remote areas…only Fort Greely escaped untouched… but it seems the _invaders_ were going to use it as a launching platform…" He couldn't hide the anger filtering into his voice. "After finding out from the locals what happened, I decided to stay here and help fight back…" Alaska stared at America. "What… happened with you? I thought… I thought you were in the capitol…?"

America stared at his youngest state and after a moment, started from the beginning.

* * *

America stared at the soup that stood before him. Canada sat beside him, nursing a glass of water. Tony sat opposite of Canada, taking spoonfuls of the soup. Muffled voices came from the basement where Russia and Alaska were conversing.

"You have to leave him, Alfred."

America frowned, stirring the condensed tomato soup that had long grown cold.

He couldn't leave Alaska. Not when he was fighting to regain a vital region that would turn away the invaders from the immediate area. At least until the alien's came back with a larger force.

"We _have_ to establish communication with the others…" Canada sighed, resting his chin in his hands. "We _have_ to see what information they have on the invaders. We've been isolated for so long… Maybe we can come up with a plan to fight back…?"

America dropped the spoon and pushed the soup away to Tony, who grasped the bowl and pulled it closer, eating the cold soup with relish.

"I didn't want to leave either, Alfred." Canada leveled a narrow stare at his twin. "I didn't even want to leave my cabin. I wanted to stay and gather resources, try and find my other provinces and territories that I met along the way. Try and get things moving again-"

"I _won't_ leave. I can't…"

Canada visibly wilted. A sigh escaped his lips. America stood up. Something stirred inside him; it boiled and burned inside his chest.

Canada dug his fingers into the table and stood. "We can't talk about this with…_humans_ upstairs." He finished in a hushed whisper. "Let's go down to the basement."

America stared at him a moment before turning stiffly and stepped down the stairs. Canada followed and Tony followed, closing the latch behind him.

Alaska sat at his desk, his pale blue eyes meeting America's. Something flickered in his gaze, he stood and moved around around the desk.

"I can't go with you." America stared at Canada, and then glanced to Russia. "I'll stay here, while the two of you go ahead."

"What? Why?" Alaska asked, his voice sounding calm and patient, as if dealing with a wild animal. "You _have to go_. You have to meet with them, they could have important information, intelligence that we don't have."

"I can't leave you when you're barely keeping everything together here!" America turned on the young state, his voice almost chastising. "Those aliens… those _things_ could over run this place whenever they want! To be honest, I'm surprised they haven't already!"

Alaska stepped away, flinching at America's harsh words.

"And why are you having those officer's checking for identification?" America stared at the younger teenaged boy, feeling hyperaware of Russia and Canada's eyes on the two of them. "It shouldn't matter _who_ they are so long as they're human-"

"It's not about that!" Alaska stepped forward in his defense. "We're only doing it because the alien's have been controlling dead bodies."

America stared at him. "…_What_?"

"It's the truth! I don't know how but… it's like… they control them like…like their robots or… _something_. It's happened enough that I started having the officer's ask for any kind of identification. It seems to throw the alien's off enough to see if they're really human… or not."

America glanced to Russia. "Have you seen or heard of that occurring before?"

Russia shook his head, his face grave.

_So… this is something new they're trying. Using dead humans to try and infiltrate the remaining groups… but __**why**__?_

America turned back to Alaska.

"Alaska-"

"I only did it because they could have important supplies!" Alaska stated in a vehement tone, sounding eerily familiar to a teenager arguing with their father. "There could be extra reserves of gasoline or aircraft that are still functioning-!"

America swallowed his pride, and placed his hands on the teenager's shoulders.

"That's not important right now, Alexei."

Alaska gaped openly at him.

"But…but…I thought you…would have wanted us to fight back-"

"I do!" America reassured him. "I want to, I would give anything to be able to…but… we need to put the priority of keeping our citizen's safe… first." The words burned as they left his mouth. "Right now… the people here are _surviving_. They aren't _living_."

Alaska studied America, his pale blue eyes peering at him for a long moment. Something flickered in his gaze, and he bent his head to the floor, nodding meekly.

"You need to go and make contact with the others, America. Everything will be okay. I… I haven't been thinking straight."

America stared down at his youngest state, withdrew his hands from the boy's shoulder's and pulled him into a hug, wrapping his arms around him. Alaska stood still for a moment, surprised at the intimate gesture, before returning the hug with vigor. The boy buried his face into America's chest and shook softly. America tightened his hold, rubbing his hands against the boy's back soothingly.

"I…I thought you were…dead-" Alaska said tearfully into America's chest, his voice muffled. "…I'm glad your okay dad." Russia glanced at them in slight surprise at the nick-name Alaska used. "But you have to go."

America pulled away, reluctantly nodding in agreement.

Canada's shoulders wilted in relief. The tense atmosphere faded.

"Alaska… if you can spare us any ammunition or supplies…"

Alaska turned to Canada with a small smile.

"I was wondering when someone was going to ask that."

The four left after spending a day in Delta Junction. Alaska helped restock their ammunition, food stuffs, extra gear for "roughing it" in the wilderness, and showing them an easy way to find a large harbor, not bombed and still in operation by humans, to find a boat worthy enough to cross the Bering Strait.

"Nome was one of the few places that wasn't hit." Alaska explained before their departure. "They have one of the only large, industrial harbor's that wasn't bombed, and someone might be willing to part with their boat if you have the leverage."

After he showed them the quickest route to the distant town, and after America gave the youngest state a desperate hug, the four set off, leaving Alaska behind.

* * *

The snow was most melted away by now, only the mountain tops kept their snow-capped blankets. Green shoots of wild flowers sprouted along the desolate two-lane road they traveled on, giving splashes of color to the dreary landscape. Animals seemed to have awakened from their long sleep during winter, the angry calls of birds, the chattering of smaller woodland animals, the occasional call of a moose, and the squeaks and tiny calls of insects filled the air.

For the first time in months, America had his thick jacket off and tied around his waist. Only a red shirt covered him, as his former red shirt was torn and worn out beyond repair. A new, albeit old and frayed, set of blue-jeans covered his legs, along with a pair of old military boots that covered his feet. Canada held a similar ensemble, only his button-up shirt was an off white. Russia, unused to warmer weather, had the layers of his coats and long-sleeved shirts off, save for the dark blue sleeveless undershirt.

America smiled and breathed the warm air, taking in the blossoming scents of the surrounding woodland. Behind him dragged the sled, the metal supports were now scraping against the pavement.

"I would give _anything_ for a horse right now…" America muttered, his feet had long grown used to the extreme distances they traveled, but the traveling still grew mindlessly boring. "We would cover so much more ground…"

"Once we cross the strait and travel southward, we can ride the…" Russia paused a moment, struggling with the translation process. "…the Trans-Siberian railway."

"You have that running? What about fuel for the train engine? Or electricity?"

"We have… switched to the older style, wood burning trains. Any remaining gasoline that is found is reserved for military purposes."

_…If you can __**find**__ any remaining military vehicles or airplanes still in working condition…_ America thought pessimistically. _…those __**fuckers**__ probably destroy them on sight._

"…How do you defend it from attack?" Canada asked suddenly. "I'm sure there are areas where defending the railway is unrealistic?"

"The people scout along the rail lines within the vicinity of their nearby settlements…" Russia exclaimed. "But the invaders still get through. The train must have armed guards at all times, and lookouts for any rails that have been removed or blown apart."

America stared into the horizon, dragging the sled and ignoring the dull pain in his shoulders. _I'll have to trust my states… trust that they are doing everything they can to keep the people safe._ He couldn't help the wave of worry that flooded him. _I hope their all okay… especially my southern and southwestern states… they're the most at risk, thanks to the alien's enjoying warm, hot weather._

"Alfred…_Alfred_-" Canada voice interrupted his brooding. "…Have you listened to a word I've said?"

America stared at him blankly and offered a tiny smile.

Canada rolled his eyes in response. "Sometimes I wonder if we're even related."

"What?" America exclaimed, his voice growing defensive. "We are!"

"We're almost the _exact opposite_-"

"We look alike!"

"…_And?_"

"And I'm about as crazy over Football as you are over Hockey."

Canada grew quiet, rolling that tidbit around in his head.

"You've never gotten arrested-"

"He did." Tony chimed in. "Fucking Los Angeles Raider's game. Early nineties. Back when they actually won games."**

Canada stared at America. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked?"

Canada frowned at him for a moment.

"Personality wise, we are the exact opposite-"

"Both of you are passive aggressive." Russia chimed in, not turning to make eye contact with either of them. "Don't try to deny it, _Amerika_."

America winced at the cutting edge Russia gave his formal title. _Is he angry at me?_

"…I can be…" America allowed, deciding to leave it at that. "But I'd rather just get everything over with."

"I _know_."

Canada peered at Russia, and then turned to America, his gaze slowly narrowing into an accusing glare.

America met his brother's glare, and sent him an _I-have-not-idea-what-I-did/whatever-it-is-it-wasn't-me_ look in return.

The northern twin only raised his eyebrow in annoyance. _'Fix it'_, he silently mouthed at him.

Now it was America's turn to glare. _How in the hell can I fix it when I don't even know what caused it?_

_'Just do it'_ Canada mouthed again, seeming to sense his twin's inner frustration, not giving an inch. _'Your fault'_

_**My**__ fault?_ America couldn't have been more surprised. _How is it my fault if I don't even know what I did wrong?_

America jabbed a finger in the air at Russia's back and sent a questioning stare at his twin. Canada only glared at him. America promptly flung his arms in the air, growing fed up with the entire situation.

Tony glared at the twins.

"_Both_ of you are fucking annoying."

* * *

America stirred the smoldering coals that glowed and shimmered within the circle of rocks. Using his knife, he slid it from the sheath and went to work on a can of _pork-n-beans_ that promised a _real barbecue flavor_.

Whatever that meant anymore.

Sitting opposite of him was Russia. A small book was propped in his hands, the words До́ктор Жива́го* printed across the paper cover. America stared at it, the title looking vaguely familiar to him.

_I've seen those words before… but where?_

Russia read the small book in silence. He lay on the green grass that surrounded the camp, his upper back and head propped against his bedroll.

America focused on the can, but felt the air between the two of them growing more electrified with each passing second. Silently, he wished Canada and Tony would return from hunting, even if they didn't catch anything.

_What did I do to make Russia act like… whatever he's acting like?_ America sighed inwardly. _He's angry at me, but I don't even know __**why**__. I __**hate it**__ when he does that._

America frowned and stabbed the knife through the top of the large, round can. _At least __**when**__ I'm angry, I tell him exactly __**why**__ I'm angry! I don't leave him guessing! …Right?_ America jerked the knife upward, then down, performing a sawing-type motion to cut through the can's lid. _I didn't even do anything, did I? Before we met Alaska he seemed fine! Right?_ Frustration filled his chest; it burned and boiled against his ribs. _It happened while we were with Alaska, then. What did I do? What did Alaska do? We didn't do anything, did we? I can't believe this is my fault. __**My**__ fault. Mattie thinks I have Ivan all figured out. I just wave a wand and fix his bad mood!_ His fingers clenched at the knife and can, an angry heat spreading into his palms and spilling over him. _Technically we've only been together for a year… if you include the months we've spent together after we found him in that alien camp. We just barely became __**intimate**__ when that fucking flash happened. I can't help get through this if I don't even know how! Hell, I can't just __**fix**__ it with Ivan! It's not that easy-_

Strong hands gripped America's wrists, icy fingers dug into his skin. America blinked, and found Russia knelt before him. His violet eyes held annoyed confusion.

"W-what are you doing?" America gasped.

"…I could ask you the same question."

"…Huh?"

America looked down.

The can he'd been opening was now crushed in his hands, and the knife embedded into the palm of his left hand. A steady stream of blood covered his hand and the blade, where it dripped into his jeans.

Before America could act, Russia jerked both the can and the knife away, the knife torn away from the bloodied palm with a wet, sucking sound. Pain shot up his arm, both hot and burning all at once.

"Ahh!" America cried out. "What the fuck!"

Russia studied the can for a second, and after determining that none of America's blood got into the food, dumped the remaining contents into a cast-iron pot and set it directly onto the burning coals. Setting the knife aside, Russia turned back to America, where he took an empty spot beside him to sit.

America clutched at his bleeding, sliced-open hand, blood now covering his other hand and drenching his wrist and forearm.

Russia reached for his pack, jerking it from its spot on the bedroll and setting it on his lap.

"Did you not notice the knife cutting into your skin?" Russia questioned, his eyes focused on his pack while he dug through it for medical supplies. "You sawed at it for quite some time before I grabbed you."

"…I was thinking."

Russia raised one eyebrow. "…About what?"

_…I was thinking about you and why you're angry at me for no apparent reason?_

"…nothing in particular."

Russia gripped a metal flask, his hand posed in mid air for a second.

"…Nothing?"

"That's right."

Russia crooked a single eyebrow, and sent him a flat glare, his face clearly seeing through America's façade.

_I hate it when he does that._

"It must have been very important."

Russia's voice was flat and dripping in sarcasm.

"It was." America returned the glare. "It was about you."

Russia carefully unscrewed the lid from the cap. "Is that so?" His voice was fleeting. "Your thoughts of me caused you to forget the pain you were causing yourself?"

"Don't they always?"

Russia's hand tensed around America's injured one, and he turned the flask over his hand, spilling the contents into the cut.

Eye-watering pain flooded him. America cried out and jerked his hand away.

"_Christ_ what the hell **is** that shit?" America squeezed his eyes shut, feeling them filling with pain filled tears. "Is that vodka?"

"Alexei gave it to me. He called it _moonshine_."

"_Fuck_ even worse." America blinked rapidly and shrank away from Russia. "What are you trying to do to me?"

"I am cleaning the wound." Russia's hand shot out and grabbed America's injured palm. "You are making everything worse."

"Everything?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Russia cleaned the wound, studied it for a moment, and took out a wad of gauze after determining the cut wasn't deep enough to require stitches.

America stared at Russia, his blue eye boring into his violet pools.

"Why are you angry at me?" America blurted out. "What did I do?"

Russia paused a moment, his eyes rising to meet America's gaze.

"You do a lot of things, America."

America gaped openly at him.

Russia remained silent and after pressing a wad of sterile cloth to the wound, started wrapping the hand.

America peered at the elder nation, silently relishing the cool, lingering touches his fingers left against his skin. America opened his mouth again, but he quickly let it fall shut.

_…He's not ready to tell me, then? Fine. I can wait.

* * *

_

**Next Chapter: **America and Canada celebrate their birthdays, and the group arrives in Nome, Alaska.

Extra Notes:

_Oakland Raiders (formerly known as Los Angeles Raiders)_ - The American Football team "Oakland Raider's" have some of the most die-hard fans in the sport. They gather at every home game, dress up to to the point of being obsessed, have wild tailgate parties, and sit together in the stands. They are known as "the black hole" and after personally going to a few games (where the raider's were losing), things can got pretty violent. If you're curious, just look up "Oakland raiders the black hole" in google. It'll explain everything.

_До́ктор Жива́го (Doctor Zhivago)_ – I'm not sure on the Russian, as it comes from Wikipedia and we all know how reliable they can be -_- . According to Wikipedia: "is a 20th century novel by Boris Pasternak, first published in 1957. The novel is named after its protagonist, Yuri Zhivago, a medical doctor and poet. It tells the story of a man torn between two women, set primarily against the backdrop of the Russian Revolution of 1917 and the subsequent Russian Civil War of 1918–1920. More broadly, the novel discusses the plight of a man as the life that he has always known is dramatically torn apart by forces beyond his control. The book was made into a film by David Lean in 1965 and has also been adapted numerous times for television, most recently as a mini-series for Russian TV in 2005." I've only seen the movie version by David Lean and I loved it enough to throw it in here.

_Moonshine_ - Moonshine is any distilled spirit made in an unlicensed still. As with all distilled spirits, yeast ferments a sugar source to produce ethanol, then the alcohol is extracted through distillation using a still. Because of its illegal nature, moonshine is rarely aged in barrels like proper whiskey, and it sometimes contains impurities and off flavors, but very rarely other toxic alcohols such as methanol. The off flavors may come from improper mashing, fermentation and/or distillation. In popular culture, moonshine is usually presented as being extremely strong and in North America is commonly associated with the Southern United States, Appalachia and Atlantic Canada."

_Nome, Alaska_ - Wikipedia again: "**Nome** (Inupiaq: _Sitnasuaq_) is a city in the Nome Census Area in the Unorganized Borough of the U.S. state of Alaska, located on the southern Seward Peninsula coast on Norton Sound of the Bering Sea. According to a 2008 State of Alaska certification, the city population was 3,570. Nome was incorporated on April 9, 1901, and was once the most populous city in Alaska. Nome lies within the region of the Bering Straits Native Corporation (BSNC). In the winter of 1925, a diphtheria epidemic raged among Inuit in the Nome area. Fierce territory-wide blizzard conditions prevented delivery of a life-saving serum by airplane from Anchorage. A relay of dog sled teams was organized to deliver the serum. The annual Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race commemorates this historic event.


	6. Chapter 6

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language & violence.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

* * *

Early July

America jammed a stick into the coals of the early morning fire. The end of the stick smoldered and glowed until it caught fire.

Behind him the other's slumbered in the tiny tent, varied snores filling the air. America had awoken to a cramp in his lower back from the awkward sleeping position, thanks to sharing a tiny sleeping space with Russia. After extracting himself from the pile of bodies, America breathed in the crisp morning air of summertime in the alpine tundra.

Reaching to his personal bag, he pulled out a tiny plastic booklet that contained several pages of paper inside. Using a pencil, he flipped through the pages of markings until he came to one labeled "June". He marked a line beside a group of others, and after a moment, counted each group.

Realization dawned upon him.

"It's Canada's birthday today."

He turned to the next page and wrote "July" at the top.

"Really?" Came Russia's sleep-laden voice. "Your birthday is coming up then?"

America turned around and found the elder nation crawling out of the tent, zipping the cloth door shut behind him. Stumbling to his feet, he yawned deeply and found an empty spot near America, where he promptly sat.

"Yeah…three more days."

Russia rubbed the sleep from his eyes and peered at the burning stick in the fire. Swallowing another yawn, he refocused onto America.

"How old will you be?"

"Offically or Unoffically?"

"Does it matter?" Russia opened the bag of food supplies and dug through the varied can's that were remaining.

"Offically I'm 234. Un-officially I'm in my early 400s… 405…I think." America pulled his burning stick from the fire and blew the flames on the end out. The wood hissed and popped. It vaguely reminded him of the fireworks that would've been happening for the next few days if everything were normal.

Russia paused in his search for breakfast, his eyebrows drawing together. "…Only 405?"

"Somewhere around there."

"…Sometimes I forget how young you are-"

"So?" America's voice grew defensive. Not having a long, extensive history like the other, older nations across the pacific and Atlantic always _bothered_ him…_ and I don't even know why half the time._ "Never bothered you before. Say, how old are you anyways? Like… unofficially?"

"Hmmm…" Russia hummed, his gaze growing distant. "…I'm not sure."

"Not sure?" America peered at him. "How can you not be sure of your own age?"

"…It happens to all of us, eventually." Russia turned his gaze back to the canned food in his lap. "Has England ever told _you_ his exact age?"

"…No." America managed after some thought. "But…don't you have at least some idea?"

"Some scholars say around 5,000 years… Others say differently. I can't remember."

America stared at Russia. _5,000 years…? Compared at him, I must be like… a blip on the radar or something._

"Don't give it much thought." Russia reassured, and withdrew a can of white corn from the bag. "How does this sound?"

America looked over the can and shrugged. "Sure."

_I must be so immature to him… do I come off that way to others? He's seen so many events-_

Cool hands touched his neck. Jarred from his concentration, America jerked away in surprise and found Russia pressing his forehead against his own. His eyes were at half-mast, the glaze of sleep still clinging to the violet pools.

"What did I say?"

America frowned. "…Don't give it much thought?"

"And what are you doing?"

"Thinking. About…_that_."

Russia peered at him a moment more before moving away, only this time he sat directly beside him and started opening the can of corn himself. After the spectacle from a month ago, he was forbidden from opening food cans anymore. A scar, still puckered and pink, lined his palm.

"Of all things to be insecure about, it's your own lack of history before your discovery."

America's frown intensified. "So?" He glared at Russia and crossed his arms over his chest. "And who said I was insecure?"

Russia paused to give him a "_Do you think I was born yesterday?"_ look.

America stared right back him.

The two turned away at the same time. America grabbed his stick and dug it into the fire, scooting further away from Russia.

It had been like this for the past month now.

_He's been upset about __**something**__ for weeks, but for the life of me I don't know what about… why can't he just __**tell**__ me?

* * *

_

The group traveled off road now with America in the lead. They trekked through wide open fields, clusters of trees, around ponds and lakes. The air was cool and crisp, the sun warm and inviting.

They passed though the tiny village of McGrath, where they foraged for food and other supplies in the abandoned homes. Finding little, they left civilization once more, choosing to avoid the routes traveled by road, as the alien's seemed to prefer keeping regular patrols along them. Weeks passed, Matthew and Alfred's birthdays were celebrated in modesty. Gifts were exchanged in similar fashion. Matthew made homemade pancakes from supplies he'd been saving for the past several weeks, and the syrup Ivan gave him for Christmas finally came into use. Alfred produced a small sack of salmon-berries, after spending the afternoon and evening foraging for them. But compared to Matthew's delicious, mouthwatering meal, his gift felt weak in comparison. After spying the old violin case hidden away in his pack, he produced the instrument and decided to perform music at their request, since it had been months since he last played.

For the next two hours Alfred took their requests and played the music to his best ability. The songs were far more simplified than the original versions, not to mention out of tune, thanks to the instruments age, but just hearing music again brought a warm, peaceful feeling to the camp. Matthew requested some of his favorite music, some current and modern, others older and classical. Whenever Alfred would turn to Ivan for a request, he would simply shake his head and nod to Matthew, who requested another song after a moment of hesitation.

Finally, Matthew stood after Alfred finished an older folk song, and picked up his rifle. He threw a look at Tony, who quickly got the hint and made to go follow him.

"It's getting late. I'd better scout the area before it gets dark."

Alfred watched Matthew leave with a scowl. After his twin was beyond hearing distance, he turned his glare onto Ivan.

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Ivan." Alfred ground through his teeth. "You **know** what."

Ivan ate the remains of his pancakes, rolling the fluffy texture and sweet drops of maple syrup over his taste buds, and turned a violet gaze to him. "You would not know any classical songs from my homeland."

"_What_?" Alfred spat, his blue eyes brightening in anger. "I know some music from your homeland!"

"Do you?" Ivan smiled.

"_Hello_? Tchaikovsky? Glinka? Mussorgsky? Swan lake? The Nutcracker? The 1812 Overture? I could go on. "** Alfred glared at him, looking insulted. "Just because I love my current, modern music doesn't mean I don't appreciate the classics."

"That is good to know."

Alfred frowned, his glare deepening. "You think I can't play it, can you?"

Ivan hummed, his smile deepening.

"Fine then." Alfred set the violin in his lap, cracking his knuckles and shaking loose his hands before picking it up again. "Waltz of the Flowers."*

"The entire piece?" Ivan questioned, the smile never leaving. "It's almost 7 minutes long."

"The whole thing." Alfred smiled in challenge. "Though I might have to simplify it, because I don't have a whole symphonic orchestra with me."

"How unfortunate."

Alfred straightened, and raised his bow, taking a calming breath before starting the opening sequence before the main harmony came into play. The notes, despite being a tad out of tune, rose and fell like the sweeps and twirls of a ballet dancer, filling the cool summer night of the alpine tundra with the delicate sounds of the classical Russian waltz. Star's filled the night sky in the thousands as the final edges of the sunlight disappeared. The music of the violin surrounded and curled around them. Ivan let his eyes fall closed as the music grew in strength, flowing into crescendos', softening to a whisper before growing strong and vibrant.

The song ended suddenly and abruptly. Deafening silence fell on the forest once more.

Alfred lowered the violin to his lap and slowly raised his eyes to Ivan's face.

Ivan kept his eyes closed, a pleased, yet distant smile on his face.

"…You did that on purpose." Alfred realized. "You wanted me to play something all along?"

"I wanted to see what you would choose for me." Ivan's eyes finally cracked open at half-mast, a ghost of a smile still on his face.

"You wanted…what?" Alfred was at a loss for words. "_Why_?"

"Of all the possible songs to choose from, you picked Waltz of the Flowers."

Ivan stared into the crackling fire, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

Alfred peered at him through the licking flame of their campfire. It was obvious they were not on the same page.

"Would you have preferred Night on Bald Mountain?" Alfred couldn't help but shudder at the memory of the animated sequence done to the music in his early _Fantasia_ movie.**

Ivan let his violet eyes fall closed. The light of the fire flickered across his pale face.

"When I closed my eyes while you played, I could almost hear the Saint Petersburg Philharmonic Orchestra playing once more."**

The previous floundering annoyance fled in a flash. Alfred sobered, and rubbed his fingers across the peeling varnish of the wooden violin frame. Only the sounds of the popping and crackling fire filled the air.

"…But now they're gone." Ivan opened his eyes once more. "And it will be a long time before there are enough talented musicians to join the group again."

Alfred carefully set the violin back into its case, making sure to snap the metal locks back into place before setting it beside his bedroll. Taking in a deep breath, he stood from his seat, taking a moment to stretch the kinks from his back, before moving around the fire to sit directly beside Ivan. The two remained just like that, neither moving for several minutes until Alfred reached across to clench Ivan's opposite shoulder. The taller, older man leaned into the physical contact, scooting and positioning himself so he leaned into Alfred's side, briefly resting his head on his shoulder before falling to his lap.

Ivan kept his eyes averted, pain and sadness seeming to flood his violet pools. He kept his mouth pressed firmly together, refusing to admit the obvious emotions rolling across his face in waves.

Alfred understood, and leaned back against Ivan's bedroll. He carded his fingers through Ivan's hair, reveling in the feel of the thick, yet soft hair on his skin.

_I never wanted to think of it either._ Alfred frowned. _I didn't want to think of all the little things I loved… and how they're gone now. Watching the super bowl and taking bets… going to Yankees games in New York… listening to the Boston Pops Symphonic Orchestra perform during Christmas and my birthday… having thanksgiving dinner with my states…_

He took in a deep, shuddering breath.

Ivan shifted in his lap, and reached up to grasp Alfred's hand that still rested on his shoulder.

"I **hate** _them_."

Alfred agreed with every fiber of his being.

* * *

Late July

Nome. The small town finally came into view in the distance upon cresting a small hill. Surrounding them was the ever familiar tundra landscape. Even though it was summer, the air still held a cool, crisp bite.

The town seemed virtually untouched, save for the airstrip at the local airport holding several small bomb craters. They passed by a cluster of homes before moving into the town itself. More of the makeshift fencing surrounded the town, and patrols made up of the local law enforcement walked the perimeter. After talking to the single guard standing at the gate, the group was let in with little fuss.

A hospital stood nearby, along with several tent shelters for refugees in the parking lot. Homes and other commercial businesses surrounded them.

"I'm going to see if I can barter for food and supplies." Canada declared, taking control of the sled. "See if you can find anyone about a boat."

America nodded and glanced to Russia.

"I will come with you." Russia moved closer to America.

America glanced to the smallest of the hour. "Tony, you go with Mattie."

Tony flung a dirty look at Russia, and then turned away, his rifle hanging from his right shoulder.

America walked through the town with Russia following close behind, finding some buildings collapsed and others boarded up. Some commercial buildings were still in business, but they carried a variety of goods, and as usual, used bartering instead of the regular financial system.

America couldn't help but make a mental list of everything he needed to work on when he returned from his trip. _Ensure safe traveling routes, get the railroads fixed and running, get the economy up and ensure peoples trust in it, startup basic industries again, see who's left __**alive**__ in government so I can determine whose going to be the next president…_

And on and on.

The two made a right at the next intersection, the shoreline mere yards away beyond the buildings. A national park service building came into view, and it appeared to still be running, the building seemingly well taken care of. Cracking a smile, America glanced to Russia.

"The people in there will know how to help."

Russia hummed, seeming content to follow America in silence. His violet eyes wandered around the immediate area, glancing at the people in the street. America nodded in confidence and stepped up to the building, pausing at the doorway for a moment. A glass window was in the middle of the door. The glass was remarkably clean, and his reflection shown back.

The skin of his face and arms were tan from the hours spent traveling in the sun. His face and neck seemed thinner, the former excess weight stripped away. His eyes shone brilliantly, but held a hardness that hadn't seen since his civil war. He didn't look like a starving, gaunt mess, per se, but he definitely looked leaner. Scar's covered his arms and upper chest. His lips were chapped and split, his hair limp and dirty. For the first time in years, a wave of self-consciousness washed over him. He looked down and found his clothes to be worn and frayed, a thin layer of dirt covering the cloth after not having been washed for the past couple days.

_Damnit…I should've cleaned myself a little better this morning. I should've washed my clothes so I'm at least presentable. I-_

A hand clapped on his shoulder. He turned and found Russia peering down at him.

"What are you doing?"

America stared at him, and then turned to his reflection.

"…nothing." And he grasped the brass doorknob, twisted, and stepped inside.

A service desk stood off to the corner, where an older woman sat pouring over a map. Her graying hair was tied in a severe bun at the nape of her neck, her clothing looked old and well-worn, much like the clothing that covered America and Russia. She glanced up, finding the two _worse for wear_ men stepping inside.

"...and what can I do for you two?" She eyed the two of them, a glaze of distrust covering her eyes.

America smiled and stepped forward. "We're here on government business."

The woman's stare didn't change, and seemed to grow deeper in distrust. America leaned forward, pressing his hand to her own.

"We need your help."

A rippling shudder coursed through her. Her eyes widened and stared at America.

"Oh. _Oh_. I…h-how can I help you?"

"We need a boat that has enough range to make it across the Bering Sea."

* * *

America stared, slack jawed. Russia stood directly beside him, a similar look of genuine surprise covering his face.

"You…you guys actually have… a _working_ airplane?" America stepped into the large garage, turned air hangar. "How… how did _they_ miss it?"

A small to medium sized two-engine propeller plane stood before them in the center of the garage. It was white, with blue decals covering the tail, the wings and the sides.

"This was here getting fixed," explained the same woman from the office. "Something was wrong with one of the engines, and we were just waiting for parts to be delivered."

"…and _none_ of you flew it?"

A look of embarrassed-discomfort filled the woman's face. "All the pilots were killed when… it _happened_. No one in town can fly it. We would've drained the gas tank, but the mayor and local sheriff ordered the plane to remain untouched, save for the mechanic…"

"Was he able to fix it?" America tried to keep the giddy excitement from filling him.

The sheriff, who had been standing silently beside the woman, shook his head. "He died two years ago… pneumonia."

"I might be able to fix it." America declared, remembering his experience in the military and the air force during the past several wars. "You saved the other aircraft though, right?"

The sheriff nodded. "The mechanic managed to salvage plenty of parts from the remaining aircraft that were hit. He was in the middle of sorting through everything when he passed."

"And you…won't mind us using this? Taking it?"

"No… we won't have much use for it, as it's only a tiny passenger plane. It can't carry any extra goods or anything worthwhile… and this is for… meeting other countries. Finding out what's going on, getting in-tell and all that?"

America nodded.

"Then… it's alright with me." A pained look across his face. "If the mayor or any of the others were here, I'm sure they'd agree."

America smiled and stepped forward, taking the hands into his own and squeezing them in appreciation.

"Thank you."

* * *

Early August

America sat on the wing of the plane, the engine opened up before him. Tools surrounded him while he put the engine back together after replacing a small part he managed to salvage from the stockpile the former mechanic put together.

"Fixed?" asked Canada while climbing the ladder directly under the wing America sat on.

"Just putting everything back together."

Canada smiled, relief pouring off him. "Ivan and Tony have almost got a new area cleared for takeoff. They're just smoothing the terrain out."

"Ivan… _and_ Tony?" America paused in his work to raise an eyebrow at his twin. "You actually left them alone together?"

"I think Ivan can take care of himself?"

"It's not Ivan that I'm worried about."

Canada made a laughing, scoffing noise and looked over the plane. After a moment, a serious expression slowly took hold of his gaze.

"What do you think about flying this thing?"

"Just flying it, or avoiding possible alien air craft?"

"Both."

"Well… this is a small plane. I think we'll just have enough to get to the coast, but I'm not sure how far inland we'll get. As for the aliens… we don't have anything strong enough to pierce their armor… save for that high powered rifle of yours."

"I only have two clips left for that." Canada sighed. "But… with the level of technology, they might even have kinetic shielding?"

America paused. "…You think so?"

"It wouldn't surprise me if they did."

"…That is _so_ star trek!" America couldn't help but grin and remember the science-fiction shows he watched and enjoyed. "I'd give anything to fly one of their fighters."

Canada only laughed and shook his head. America laughed with him, a warm feeling filling his chest. It slowly dawned upon him that this was the first genuine laugh he'd shared since before the flash. It felt good, feeling that giddy happiness rise up and fill him.

"Well… I guess one thing we can do is fly at a low altitude."

"But that'll use more fuel?"

America paused in putting the metal panel back over the engine.

"We can either fly low and use up more gasoline, or fly high and encounter fighters."

* * *

After gathering their supplies, the group had to leave their trustworthy sled in the care of the sheriff and the people of Nome. The food Canada bartered for sat on the floor directly behind the pilots' seat. The bedrolls and scarce supplies for staying in the wilderness were crammed on the backseat in-between Tony and Canada. America sat in the pilot's seat, with Russia as co-pilot. A few people in the town, including the sheriff, gathered on the right side of the makeshift runway.

"Avoid the Diomede islands!" The sheriff shouted over the roar of the idling plane engine. "Some of the Inuit fishermen have said there's a large alien compound on the islands. Seems they're using that as a staging region for the arctic area for both here _and_ Russia!"

America nodded, his blue eyes narrowing in anger.

"When can we expect you back?" The sheriff asked. "Do you know?"

America hesitated, and then glanced back to Russia.

"When can they expect us to be back?"

A thoughtful look crossed his face for a moment. "Hmm… A year if I can gather enough fuel for the return trip on this plane. A year and a half if you have to sail."

America relayed the information to the sheriff.

"I'll let everyone know." The sheriff nodded and offered a hopeful smile. "Good luck, Mr. Jones."

His chest grew tight at the sound of his name being spoken in such formal terms. He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Thanks."

* * *

The plane's engines hummed, the calm ocean waves of the Bering Sea directly below, stretching into the endless horizon. America sat still, his hands holding the control stick* that guided the plane's movements. Russia held a map of the strait and Siberia before him, marking the Diomede islands with a pencil and writing something in Russian beside them. In the back, Canada and Tony, stuffed with the food and other supplies, both asleep and slumped into the tiny seats.

"…you know we might not make it across the sea if we remain at low altitude." Russia stated, rather than asked.

"And if I flew at a higher altitude, the alien's would easily find us." America frowned. "I'd rather not take the chance."

"_Amerika_, if we run out of fuel, there will be no one to rescue us." Russia stated the obvious, his violet eyes boring into the side of his head. "And making a water landing in this plane would be… difficult."

America frowned. "If we do crash on land, would you be able to get Matthew and I a sailboat large enough to cross the Northern Pacific?"

"I might…" Russia started folding away the large map of Siberia. "But I would rather keep this. It is one of the few planes we have found in perfect working condition."

"But…" America frowned. "If we run into an alien fighter, then there's the chance of this thing getting shot to pieces and…"

_…But there's always the chance that we __**won't**__ run into any. Damnit…he's right. To a point._

"Alright, _fine_." America allowed, still frowning. "I'll make a slow climb to a higher altitude."

Russia tucked the map into his frayed military jacket and stared out into the ocean, content with the change in the flight plan.

America gazed into the darkening sky, the sun slowly sinking below the horizon.

"Russia-…_Ivan_." America clenched his fingers around the control stick. _I've waited long enough._ "Why are you angry at me?"

The words fell away, and a weight was lifted from his shoulders.

"…Angry?" Russia questioned, turning his violet eyes to him.

"Yes, angry!" America yelled in a harsh whisper, not wanting to wake Canada or Tony up. "You've been throwing dirty looks at me and avoiding me and…and-"

The corners of Russia's mouth twitched upward.

"You think I am _angry_ at you." Russia stated, his voice on the verge of laughter.

"What?" America gaped at him. "You _are_ angry!"

"I am only annoyed at how Alexei called you _Dad_."

America stared at him, his mouth hanging open.

"That's it?"

"Why did he give you such an... _endearment_ when clearly you are _not_ his father?"**

"Dude, Ivan, _all_ of my states call me Dad."

Now it was Russia's turn to look confused.

"It all started around my civil war…" America started, speaking quickly. "My southern states that… seceded from me… called me _Dad_ out of spite. They thought I - the federal government - was being too demanding, that I wasn't recognizing their rights as states and whatnot. Once the war started, my northern states called me Dad out of love. It's stuck ever since."

"Do your states call you _dad_ out of spite anymore?"

"Sometimes," America said with a smile.

Russia hummed in response.

"So…" America started after a long moment of unnerving silence. "You're not angry at me?"

"No." Russia answered with a ghost of a smile. "I am... **was** not _angry_ at you."

"Then… what is it?"

Russia turned to him with a tiny smile, his violet eyes full of mirth and amusement. "It is not the right time to discuss such…things."

"...It's not?"

America clearly was not on the same page as Russia.

"No. We must focus on the flight."

America gaped at him openly before forcing himself to turn back to the horizon.

"…_Right._"

* * *

**Next Chapter: **The group has an encounter with an alien fighter, struggle to safely land the plane, and make an alarming discovery.

Extra Notes (Apologies in Advance for their Length)

The **Saint Petersburg Philharmonic Orchestra** was formed in 1882 and is Russia's oldest symphony orchestra. (At least to my knowledge)

http:/(slash)www(dot)youtube(dot)com(space)/watch?v=2T7Zloj39kI – A lot of the **composers** I mention are in this video.

http:/(slash)www(dot)youtube(dot)com(space)/watch?v=Cg1dMpu4v7M – **Waltz of the Flowers**. A description of the story behind the music from Wiki: "Clara and the Prince arrive at the Kingdom of Sweets, ruled by the Sugar Plum Fairy. The Fairy and the people of the Kingdom of Sweets perform several dances for Clara and the Prince - a Spanish Dance, a Chinese Dance, an Arabian Dance, a Russian Dance, the Dance of the Clowns, the Dance of the Reed Flutes, the Waltz of the Flowers, and the Grand Pas de Deux, which includes the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. The dances in the Kingdom of Sweets are not always performed in this order."

http:/(slash)www(dot)youtube(dot)com(space)/watch?v=V8Ca_edg6RE – This is the **"Nightmare on Bald Mountain" **Disney's Fantasia version. I figured that if anyone would be scared of this, it would be Alfred xD

**The Diomede Islands** - [From Wikipedia] "...(Russian: острова Диомида , ostrová Diomída), also known in Russia as Gvozdev Islands (Russian: острова Гвоздева, ostrová Gvozdjeva), consist of two rocky, tuya-like islands. The U.S. island of Little Diomede or in its native language, Ignaluk...The Russian island of Big Diomede also known as Imaqliq, Inaliq, Nunarbuk or Ratmanov Diomede Islands are located in the middle of the Bering Strait between mainland Alaska and Siberia, with the Chukchi Sea to the north and the Bering Sea to the south. 9.3 mi (15 km) to the southeast is Fairway Rock, which is generally not considered part of the Diomede Islands. The islands are sometimes called Tomorrow Island (Big Diomede) and Yesterday Isle (Little Diomede) because the time in Big Diomede is 20 hours (approximately a day) ahead of Little Diomede."

**Inuit** - [Also from Wikipedia] "The Inuit are a group of culturally similar indigenous peoples inhabiting the Arctic regions of Alaska, Canada, and Greenland.[2] The Inuit language is grouped under Eskimo-Aleut languages.[3] An Inuk is an Inuit man or person... In the US, Alaskan Inupiat live on the North Slope of Alaska and Siberian Coast, Little Diomede Island and Big Diomede Island."

**Control stick** – The thing that controls the plane, like a steering wheel. This is actually what it's called, I kid you not. (At least that's what this aviation website called it. I'm kinda hoping their wrong. It just sounds so… weird!)

"**Why did he give you such an... **_**endearment**_** when clearly you are **_**not**_** his father**?" – I used to not like the whole "Alaska is America/Russia's love child" thing, but fanfics have warmed me up to the idea :) I like to think that Alaska just appeared one day, and took on the features of the two countries with the most influence on him. That being Russia and America.


	7. Chapter 7

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language & violence.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

* * *

America was woken early when Russia smacked his shoulder.

"Wake up!"

"…_huh_?" America groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "What's going on?"

It was early in the morning; the sun had yet to rise above the horizon, the full moon shown brilliantly in the sky, its soft creamy light glittering off the ocean waves far below. After flying until America could no longer keep his eyes open, he switched the flight controls to Russia, who had flown the plane from midnight on.

"I saw something in the northern horizon."

"Something?"

America turned and found Canada and Tony dead asleep. Reaching back, he grasped Canada's arm and shook him awake.

"Mattie, wake up!"

"I saw lights moving rapidly. It looked like the lights of a jet fighter." Russia spoke quickly and glanced back to the north. They were currently flying east. "There they are again. They're moving rapidly."

"_What_?" Canada croaked, and shook Tony awake. "Aliens?"

"_Shit_." America cursed and started digging for his rifle. "Can we turn our dash lights off?"

"No." Russia stated, taking a quick look over the controls. "They can easily see us."

America propped his rifle on his lap and loaded a few rounds into it.

Canada pulled his large, high-powered rifle out and dug through the bags for the ammo clips, which had been taken out for safety reasons. Finding one, he slapped it in place and chambered a round. Tony pulled out a set of battered binoculars and peered into the horizon.

"_Invader_ fighter." Tony confirmed, his alien eyesight working easily in the cover of darkness. "North by Northeast."

"It's out of range." Canada scooted closer to Tony and peered through the mounted scope on his gun. "Where should I aim?"

"The lights that are blinking." Tony answered before Russia or America. "The armor should be weaker at that point."

"It's coming in _real_ fast-" America leaned forward and stared at the twinkling lights surging towards them. "Get ready-!"

Tony cracked the window open and Canada leaned forward, shouldering his rifle, taking aim and firing two bursts of three rounds.

Green tracer rounds* erupted from the alien aircraft and sprayed around them. Russia twisted the plane away, causing the barrage of bullets to miss. A hissing gaseous sound squealed overhead and the fighter swooped away.

"Behind!" America shouted and cracked his window, letting more of the wind to rush in as he jabbed his rifle out the window and fired at the alien fighter, his only guide the blinking lights of the opposing aircraft.

More of the green tracers filled the air, the glass windows of the cabin shattered and exploded, sending glass shards all over the four defenders.

"_Fuck_-" America re-aimed and fired his rifle once more, trying to keep his aim straight and true as Russia swung and moved the plane to keep the alien fighter from possibly locking on.

Canada swung his massive rifle around and fired another burst. A ball of fire erupted suddenly from the enemy fighter, lighting up the plane. It looked vaguely like a jet fighter, only the engines were much smaller and the aircraft built more for space flight. The fighter backed off suddenly and its speed rapidly decreased.

"Yes!" Canada exclaimed in a whoop of joy. "Aim for the blue lights, I think their fuel lines are around there!"

America twisted around in his seat, nearly straddling it, and prepared to fire his rifle at the fighter once more when the plane suddenly exploded with a burst of speed and flew at them, firing a barrage of green bullets into them.

"Look out!" America shouted, and all of them ducked suddenly, somehow hoping the barrage might miss them if they moved.

The fighter swooped away and with another burst of speed, flew away.

The wind roared and ripped through the plane cabin for a few tense moments.

"What the hell?" Canada finally exclaimed. "Why leave without finishing us off?"

"Maybe that shot did more damage than we thought?" America questioned with a hopeful tone.

"Or maybe it thinks we're done for regardless…" Canada murmured and kept an eye on the northern horizon for any return visitors.

"Damn…" America put the safety on his rifle and turned around in his seat, glancing to Russia. "Hey that was some nice flying-…Ivan?"

The taller nation was slumped over the controls, his face twisted in pain.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" The joy of winning the dogfight rapidly receding, America carefully placed his rifle to the floor and reached to touch Russia's shoulder. "Ivan-?"

A wetness covered his palm the moment he touched Ivan's shoulder.

"Oh…" America breathed, and his hand came away soaked in crimson. "That…that last barrage…?"

"One in the shoulder…" Russia growled through clenched teeth, raising his voice over the roar of the wind. "Still in there…"

America flicked a switch and returned the controls to his side of the plane.

"Matthew!" America shouted, getting his twins attention from watching the sky for more fighters, and keeping one hand on the controls he dug through the bags for the first aid kit they'd pieced together over the past several months. "Ivan's been shot, left shoulder!"

_Fuck, fuck, __**fuck**__ I knew I should have kept to the low altitudes! I __**knew**__ it!_

"I'll be fine… my shoulder blade stopped it from doing any major damage-"

"I'll have to dig it out," Canada warned as he opened the first aid kit, batting America's hand away. "_You_ focus on flying!"

America shot him a glare and turned to the gauges.

The altitude was steady; the compass reading normal, air speed nominal… fuel level declining at a fast rate.

Alarm spilled past the flood gates and consumed him. He leaned forward and tapped the gauge, hoping it to be some kind of malfunction from the cockpit being shot the pieces. The reading remained true. Chest tightening, America returned his gaze to the horizon. Russia's eastern coast was a distant line on the horizon, steadily growing thicker and more detailed with each passing second.

"Uh…Ivan?" America tried to keep his voice calm. "Is eastern Siberia…flat?"

"No…" He allowed, his violet gaze narrowing in suspicion. "Why?"

"We're losing fuel."

"What?" Canada gasped, turning a worried look to America. "Will we make it to the coast?"

"Yes…but…I'm not sure how far inland we'll get."

"How long do we have before the engines stall-?" Russia asked, before the steady _hum_ of the right engine broke apart into a croaking, sputtering sound.

"No, no, no come _on_…"America flipped a few switches, and the engine sputtered to life for a moment before returning to the grunting sputter. "Just a little _more_-"

"Move our direction…" Russia reached over and touched the edge of the control stick, moving the plane's flight path to a more north-western direction. "There should be a derevnya*, ah… _village_ in that area…"

America gripped the control stick with white knuckles and felt the plane losing altitude when the right engine finally came to a shuddering halt. The left engine wavered, and America tilted the plane suddenly, forcing the remaining fuel to the remaining engine.

"I can buy us only an extra minute…" America squinted at the land ahead, a distant glow steadily filled the sky behind them in the east. The Siberian coastline grew more defined as they inched closer, the rocky and mountainous regions coming into clear view, the boreal forests just beyond the shoreline were thick. "Where…?" America squinted, and found tiny buildings coming into view. "There! I see it…"

"That is it… there should be a dirt road wide enough for a landing." Russia pointed, hoping America could follow his line of sight.

"Got it. I'll have to maneuver the plane so-"

The remaining engine suddenly cut out with a sputtering croak.

"_Damnit_-" America growled, and quickly searched for a new landing area. "The field, behind that house-!"

The silence left behind from the plane engines was deafening. The wind whispered through the cockpit and through the shattered glass windows. The crashing waves and coastline was coming to meet them at an alarming rate.

"Slow _down_-" Russia warned, and checked the belt strapped across his waist. "At the rate we're falling-"

"I'm _trying_!" America had the control stick yanked back as far as it could go, trying to force the plane to ride the wind as long as possible. "This thing is falling like rock!"

The sandy shore rushed up to meet them, the plane seemed to waver on what little lift it clung to. The beach rose upward to meet wild grasses, a field appeared with a wooden fence surrounding it.

"Come on, _come on_-!"

The landing gear smashed into the fencing, shattering the wooden planks, and finally crashed to the ground with heavy _thud_, the plane rocketed and jumbled every which way until America carefully, slowly applied the brakes that finally let them come to a complete stop.

A haggard sigh of relief escaped his throat as he wilted back into the leather pilot's seat. "I've never been so happy to be on the ground before…"

Canada unbuckled the belt from around his own waist and reached around the seat to give his twin a relieved hug. America gladly accepted it, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. A wild grin spread across his face.

"We made it."

* * *

Russia groaned and carefully leaned back into the seat, trying to stretch his long legs out in the small space of the cockpit.

"Hey," America started, turning a worry-filled gaze to him. "You okay?"

"I am fine," Russia allowed, favoring his left arm. "You?"

America couldn't help but grin in response.

"We survived a dogfight against an alien space jet with nothing but rifles and a two-engine plane that's twenty years old. Yep…I think I'm just fine."

Russia turned away with humor glittering in his violet pools, the corners of his mouth curling upward into a self-satisfied smirk.

"People are coming." Tony interrupted, his voice cutting through the cockpit.

"People-…really?" America glanced back in surprise. Sure enough, there was a small gathering of men, women, and even a few children that were nearing the plane. "I thought this town was abandoned?"

"No, not abandoned." Russia opened his door wide and jumped out of the air craft, his boots landing with a wet _shlick_. "I will talk to them, you deal with the plane."

Canada watched Russia move from around the tail and walk towards the gathering, speaking his natural language as he neared.

"Alfred," Canada turned back to his brother. "Can you speak Russian?"

America gave a self-depreciating laugh. "A few words… like _yes_ and _no_… and other words that shouldn't be repeated in public-"

"That's a no." Canada deadpanned and started gathering their supplies together. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Hey just because I'm not _fluent_ doesn't mean I can't speak it."

"Just like how you can _speak_ French and Spanish and German and-"

"I can carry a good conversation in French!" America exclaimed, looking insulted. "It's just England never wanted me around France when we were colonies and…and…"

He trailed off at the mention of their older brother. "…I wish he was here."

"He's fine Alfred." Canada reassured, despite the anxiety clouding his stare. "…If anyone can thrive from something like this… it'd be Arthur- oh, and big brother France too." He reached across the seat and curled his fingers around his twin's shoulders. "I bet they're all okay. When everyone is allied together… we're a force to be reckoned with."

"You think so?" America couldn't help but smile at the thought of everyone working together to fight off the alien threat. "I…I never thought I'd say this but…I… I miss them."

Canada tried a confident smile to lift America's spirits. It lasted only a moment before it melted into a wistful frown.

"…I miss them too."

* * *

America, Canada and Tony emptied the plane of their supplies, and after Russia held a long conversation with the local people, were able to receive permission to use an abandoned barn to hide away the plane.

"Where's the barn?" America asked after Russia told them of the good news. "Not far, I hope?"

"On the opposite side of the village, near the edge of the woods." Russia motioned with a vague, waving motion. "Do you have any ideas in how we might move it?"

"I don't know about you," Canada started and shot a look to his brother. "But I was just going to let Alfred move it."

America paused, silently running a scrutinizing gaze over the plane, before nodding. "Yeah, I can move this no problem."

"You… will have no trouble?" Russia couldn't help but keep the surprise from filtering into his voice. "That plane must weigh at least 3 metric tons- ah… " Russia paused a moment, trying to work the correct mental calculation to something America might recognize. Canada interrupted him before he could finish. "It's three and a half in _our_ ton."**

America brightened instantly. "Oh!" He smiled, and to Russia's surprise, it held a touch of shyness. "Yeah… Three and a half tons is nothing."

Russia blinked in surprise, a silent question resting on his tongue. "I have seen your… abnormal strength before. But… what is your limit?"

"I don't know." America gave a weak shrug and focused on the plane, trying to figure out the best way to move it to the barn. "I've never thought of it before."

"You haven't? _Really_?"

"Nope!" America turned away, signaling the end of the conversation. "Never really found it necessary to wonder about it."

Russia raised an eyebrow and turned to Canada, a question resting on his gaze. Canada stepped closer, his voice a hushed whisper.

"He accidentally hurt Arthur once with his strength when he was still his colony." Canada shot a glance to his brother, making sure he couldn't hear him. "He doesn't like to show it off now."

Calm realization crossed Russia's face as he hummed in response.

America checked the doors of the plane, making sure they were shut securely and everything was cleared underfoot. After a moment, he sucked in a breath and took three steps forward, thrusting his hands to the underbelly of the plane and hefted it up and over his head. He bent over slightly, and rested it on his shoulders across the back of his neck, using his hands to balance. Canada stepped forward, also helping to balance and guide the plane for his twin.

"Okay," America started, his voice sounding normal despite having over three tons of weight resting on his shoulders. "Show me the way."

* * *

Late August

Russia's shoulder was already healed.

America felt happy and relieved for the elder nation, knowing his people were doing well enough now to allow him to heal at a much faster rate than before.

_…I wonder if my people are doing better. If my states have improved things enough to aid my own health?_

A curl of envy coiled in his gut, but he smashed it away in seconds.

_No sense in worrying about that when I'm thousands of miles away._

It was early in the morning, the sun hours from rising. Tree's surrounded them, tall and thick, blocking out the light of the moon and stars. The air was cold, several degrees below freezing, even though in some areas back home there would still be triple digit temperatures lingering from his warm summers. His breath fogged and hung in the air for a moment before fading. Only the light of the tiny fire kept him company, it's orange, pulsing glow bounced off the trees and bushes, creating long shadows and tricks of light.

A sigh escaped his lips, the sound deafening in the utter silence.

Despite having walked all day, traveling over rough terrain through wooded wilderness, coming across small villages, all mostly abandoned, but sometimes people were still living there, sleep evaded America. For hours he laid in the tent, feeling Russia's warmth across his back, his soft breath fluttering across the back of his neck, Tony pressed close to his front and Canada sprawled at the far end. The warm blankets they'd collected over the past several months lying atop them in a heap.

Thoughts of aliens filled his mind. Questions he knew would never be answered echoed though the layers of thought, _What did they want?_, and _How long do they intend to stay?_… but the one he always came to in the end, the one that haunted his every waking moment, always there at the back of his mind… was _Why?_.

_Why_ did they invade? _Why_ did they choose our planet out of the thousands of others? _Why_ do they like the warmer regions of the planet? _Why_ did they use nuclear technology to kill of thousands of our people? _Why_ did they seem hell bent on taking over the planet and killing off the original inhabitants?

_Why_?

America dug his stick into the glowering wooden coals, smoke and sparks flew.

_They __**had**__ to have watched us for a while… waiting and listening for the right moment. They knew our strengths and weaknesses. Cities both large and small were targets, so long as they held some kind of importance. Whether it was industrial, financial, cultural… they took out every single airfield, naval yard, military complex I've come across._

America thought of Russia and how he mentioned the invaders grew in number the closer you got the equator. How the aliens like warm, wet areas.

_It's almost like… they're __**colonizing**__ us._

A cold shudder shot up his spine. Shaking his head he stood up from his seat and started pacing before the fire, his booted feet digging into the frozen ground.

_No… No. They couldn't be colonizing us…_

The muscles in his gut clenched at the thought. Everything started clicking together.

_That's why their killing humans on sight. That's why they bombed us so __**extensively**__… to cripple us enough to keep us from fighting back. It has to be!_

Anger rushed through him at the thought of being killed off, just to make room for someone else to inhabit the land he fought for, bled for, _lived_ for. Images of aliens taking over and getting their slimy dark hands over all the nations' most precious treasures… Hands shaking, he picked his ax up and stormed away through the trees, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The light of the fire flickered behind him as the dark woods loomed ahead. Wind whispered through the trees, the trunks creaked and groaned in protest. Slowly the campfires light dimmed, until only thin shafts of moonlight illuminated the way. A fallen tree trunk came into view, and he fell upon it with angry vigor. Raising his ax and slamming the head into the frozen wood, where it cracked and split open. Tearing the ax away and raising it over his head once more, he continued to vent his frustration and anger into the fallen tree until he could no long raise the ax over his head.

Leaving it embedded in the wood, he collapsed to his knees and dug his fingers into the permafrost. Deep gasping breathes tore from his throat. Slowly, he leaned back against the fallen tree, allowing his head to droop back and bare his throat. His muscles burned pleasantly, creating an icy-hot sensation over his skin. Minutes passed, and he opened his eyes, finally deciding to return to camp. Yanking the ax from the tree trunk, he turned and walked through the woods.

After walking steadily for some time, he came to a halt. The campfire was nowhere in sight. He turned in a circle, studying the woods in hopes of recognizing anything to light his way.

Nothing.

Cursing, he stared at the ground and retraced his footsteps back to the log he'd abused. After arriving, he continued to study the ground in hopes of finding his previous footsteps from camp until an unfamiliar footprint caught his eyes. Stepping closer he traced his finger around the print, outlining its odd shape.

It was alien, and it was _fresh_.

Heart thudding in his chest at his realization, he breathed deeply and slowly, hoping to calm his nerves.

_They've been following us… they must have known we landed safely, and are now watching to see what we do…where we go._ He tried keeping the same concerned look on his face before his sudden realization. _They followed me from the camp…I'm alone and all I have in this fucking ax._ He found his previous footsteps finally and started following them back to camp. _I have to stop them from following me somehow… some kind of distraction…_

He quickened his pace, hoping to put distance between him and his followers. Stopping after a few minutes, he carefully untied the laces from his military boots, and gently pulled his feet from them, leaving his socks behind in the boots. Picking the boots up with his hands, he made more _footsteps_ with them until he picked them up and tucked them under his arm. Grasping a fallen tree branch, he swept it over the tracks from his bare feet and dashed from the trail and into the dark shadows of the wood. He walked quickly and kept himself low to the ground until he came to a crouch behind a tree. Grasping the side of the tree, he poked his head back out and waited.

Sure enough, two alien soldiers appeared, both staring intently at the tracks he left behind, until they paused at where his boot tracks stopped. The whispered in chortles to each other, both obviously confused at this turn of events.

_...you fucking aliens have __**no**__ idea who you're messing with._ America thought with a smirk, thinking of Russia, Canada and the dozens of other nations who had hundreds of years of experience in warfare and _being hunted_.

Turning away, America ran through the woods silently, carefully avoiding rocks, roots and other things that might damage the soles of his feet. The flickering campfire finally came into view, only the light far weaker than when he last left it. Clenching the ax in his left hand, he tore the entrance of the tent to the side and, silently as he could, shook Russia's foot.

"Hey! _Hey_!" America whispered harshly. "Wake up!"

Russia groaned softly, his face scrunching in annoyance. "Который час…"*

"It's early morning. Very, _very_ early." America answered despite not understanding what Russia sleepily mumbled in his native language. "We've been followed by the aliens."

Russia was awake in a matter of seconds. America handed him his rifle, picked up his own revolver, and motioned to the trail he'd used earlier. Russia nodded, and stepped into the woods, still wearing what he wore to bed, which consisted of the pants he wore the day before, his scarf, and nothing else.

The group found the aliens up ahead, both appeared to be arguing now, one speaking into a kind of electronic device at its neck. Russia aimed and fire two shots in quick succession, the two aliens dropped to the ground, each with a single shot to the head. America stepped from the woods and stared down at the aliens, Russia coming to stand beside him.

The same chortling language crackled from the electronic device at the dead alien's neck.

America looked to Russia, silently asking for his opinion. Russia nodded, firm agreement in his gaze.

Turning back to the alien, America knelt and picked at the device, freeing it from the things neck. Carefully, he stood back up and held it in his hand. It appeared to be a two-way speaker of sorts, giving audio while relaying it back all at the same time. Tiny lights adorned the device, some blinking, others remaining static. Holding his hand up, America walked to an area with a clear sky to the north. The static in the signal remained the same. He moved to an area with a clear view of the southern sky. The static disappeared, revealing a pure signal. Russia and America looked at each other.

America gently placed the device back to the ground and the two returned to camp.

Once out of listening distance, America broke the silence.

"The Trans-Siberian railway is due south of here, right? It hasn't fallen into alien hands, has it?"

"No," Russia reassured him, taking a seat beside the dying fire. "I would have felt it."

"You're sure?"

"…Positive."

America sighed and put the safety back on his revolver, returning it to his pack.

"What were you doing out so early?" Russia asked, his voice still rough from sleep.

"…Couldn't sleep." America grumbled, sitting beside him. "…I keep thinking about _them_."

Russia stared into the fire, the orange glow glistening across his eyes. "There is nothing we can do while traveling."

"I know," America grumbled, not liking the truth. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

A smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, Russia wrapped an arm around America's shoulders and pulled him into a one-sided embrace.

"They _underestimate_ us."

America found himself agreeing with every fiber of his soul, but felt a question nagging at the corner of his mind.

"Ivan… they don't know about…_us_. Right?"

Russia turned a confused stare to him.

"I mean…" America didn't pull away from the embrace, and loosely wrapped his own arm around Russia's waist. "I mean about… the nations. Us. Our strange… gifts? Like your immunity to anything cold… Canada's invisibility… my strength?"

"I don't know." Russia stated honestly. "They might… but they might not. Our governments kept everything about us as top secret… no one knew save for a handful of people. No records were kept about us… everything was passed by word of mouth." Russia grazed his fingers over America's bare shoulder. "Why do you ask such questions?"

America nodded, it had been the same for him, Canada, England… all the governments' kept the same regulations in place in regards to _them_.

"They were _following_ us, Ivan." Something dark coiled in his gut. "They were waiting and watching, seeing what we were doing… where we were going…"

"We must address each other by our human's names from now on. At all times."

America nodded. "I… don't think I called you by your formal name-…wait. Yesterday- _shit_." America pulled away from the embrace and cradled his head in his hands. "All of us were talking when we were packing up yesterday… we used our formal names. Fuck!"

"But they made no move to capture us." Russia countered. "Most likely… they had suspicions, but continued to wait and watch."

"But now they know what we look like. They know who we are." America could've punched something. "I can't _believe_ this."

Minutes passed and America ran his hands through his greasy hair. Sunrise was still two hours away.

"I'm never going back to sleep at this rate…" America sighed and reached for the stack of wood Tony collected previous evening. "Might as well start-"

Russia gripped his arm and pulled him back to his chest. America struggled for a moment, but quickly gave in with a sigh.

"There is plenty of time for that." Russia whispered into his hair. "Just relax."

America snorted, but slowly melted into Russia's embrace, snuggling back into his bare chest. Russia turned, putting America between his legs, and wrapped his arms around America's front, bringing him closer to him. America let himself be cuddled, silently relishing the intimate contact without prying eyes. An odd, icy warmth emanated from Russia and into America's back, easing the strain and worry that built up with each day. His arms wrapped firmly around him, one across America's chest and the other laying at his waist, a large hand pressed to his abdomen, rubbing in circles through the shirt.

An exhausted sigh escaped, and America felt warm breath ghosting across his neck.

"You're going to make me fall asleep…" America complained, catching Russia's hand at his belly and linking their fingers together. "Stop it…"

A deep rumble came from Russia's chest, and America felt two lips press against the shell of his ear and slowly curl into a smile.

"That's the idea, дорогой."*

America flushed at the endearment, and let his head fall back against Russia's chest.

"I won't fall sleep… I can't."

The lips pulled away and pressed to his temple. A warm kiss, full of comfort and calm satisfaction.

"You will."

He was asleep in seconds.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **There's a time skip, they arrive at a rebuilt train station for the Trans-Siberian Railway in the ruins of Чита́ (Chita...I think?) and start traveling across Russia over the rail line.

_A/n:_ Just a warning for the next several chapters, I get most of my information from the internet, and we all know how reliable and correct that can be. If you find anything to be wrong or incorrect, please don't hesitate to let me know! I'll make changes as soon as I'm able :)

Extra Notes

1.** Tracer rounds** – From Wikipedia: "are special bullets that are modified to accept a small pyrotechnic charge in their base. Ignited upon firing, the composition burns very brightly, making the projectile visible to the naked eye. This enables the shooter to follow the bullet trajectory relative to the target in order to make corrections to his or her aim. When used, US tracers are usually loaded as every fifth round in machine gun belts, referred to as four-to-one tracer. Platoon and squad leaders will sometimes load their magazines entirely with tracers to mark targets for their soldiers to fire on. Tracers are also sometimes placed two or three rounds from the bottom of magazines to alert the shooter that his or her weapon is almost empty."

2.** Derevnya** – Wikipedia again: "In Russia, the bulk of the rural population is concentrated in rural localities. Two most common types of rural localities are derevnya (деревня) and selo (село). Historically, the formal indication of status was religious: a city (gorod) had a cathedral, a selo had a church, while a derevnya had neither."

3. "**It's three and a half in **_**our**_** ton."** – Like Alfred, I suck at metric. It's like I finally understand our complicated system of imperial measures, but then I tried to learn metric and my head explodes. Now with that over with, I read on Wikipedia that Canada still uses the "long ton", which is 2,000lbs. The metric ton (referred to as "short ton" I believe) is 1,000lbs. (I'd convert these to metric for you, but I'm afraid I'll get it all wrong and end up embarrassing myself). Also, as an interesting side note, in the anime/manga Alfred is able to easily lift a full groan buffalo/bison into the air and swing it around as if it weighs nothing. I looked up how much they weigh, and one website said a full groan buffalo can weigh as much as 7 ½ TONS (Long tons I believe). This blew me away, and I figured that if America was able to do that when he was a baby, then he'd be able to lift WAY more than that as an adult.

4. "**Который час…"** - what time is it or what hour...? (Not sure on this because I don't speak Russian [I only understand Japanese/Spanish]. If it's wrong please don't hesitate to let me know.)

5. "**дорогой"** – Darling, dear? Once again, I don't speak the language so I have no way to clarify this. Bah I need to find a beta who can speak Russian x_x**  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language & violence.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

A/n: My knowledge of the interior of the Чита́ train station is close to nothing, so I had to use creative license. Apologies?

* * *

Early November

America stood shivering beside his twin brother. Layers of clothing surrounding him, including two shirts, a frayed sweatshirt, an old jacket he picked up in Alaska, a knit scarf Russia found for him wrapped around his neck, jawline, mouth and nose… and he was still cold. He kept his arms folded across his chest with his fingers in his armpits, as he had yet to find a set of gloves, mittens or anything to protect his hands from the elements. Canada stood relatively still despite wearing far less clothing than his southern twin.

After nearly three months, the group finally arrived in the ruins of Чита́*, thanks to several shortcuts Russia made while leading the group through his homeland. America couldn't help but notice how beautiful the city was, despite the chaotic destruction left behind from the _flash_… the architecture that survived the bombing, the fields and the remaining fauna not covered by an early snowfall… and thanks to the efforts of the people, the city was slowly being cleaned up and rebuilt.

The train station was one of the first buildings finished, the only thing not replaced were the glass windows, now covered by scrap wood and metal to keep the elements out.

America, Canada and Tony stood in the main lobby, surrounded by people of all ages.

"What is taking Ivan so long?" America wondered impatiently, but kept his voice in a whisper. "It's been well over 30 minutes."

"He's probably having trouble getting enough tickets." Canada assumed, digging his bare hands into the pockets of his thick winter coat. "Be patient."

America sighed, and tried to ignore the growling of his stomach. It lasted only a minute before America winced at the hunger pangs stabbing at his gut.

"Hey…Mattie…" America glanced to his brother. "I'm _starving_. I'm gonna see if I can barter for any food here…"

"Can't you wait until we're on the train?" Canada asked, shooting an annoyed look. "Ivan could return at any moment."

"I _know_ but…I can't wait anymore. Besides I'm _dying_ for something _warm_ to eat…"

Canada sighed and dug through his pockets for anything worthwhile to exchange. "Here," he started, handing out a small lighter. "I have another, as these tend to be popular to barter with. Use it to get some food."

America smiled and took the plastic lighter with an appreciative hug.

He walked through the lobby, sweeping his eyes over the crowd in hopes of finding someone bartering for food or supplies. Turning a corner, he found an older woman sitting with a young girl, who looked to be only nine or ten years of age. Both were sitting on the floor, talking to another family sitting beside them. A blanket lay under them, along with a plastic bowl filled with bread pastries of some kind. America stepped over to them, and tried summoning up what little Russian he knew.

"Um… uh.."

_Damnit, what was that word for trading again…?_

"Ah… Skol'ko eto… stoit?"*

_God I hope I said that right._

The older woman looked at him blankly for a moment, a question resting in her gaze.

"Ты говоришь по-русски?"*

America nearly laughed. It was a phrase he's heard hundreds of times when visiting Russia. "Is it that obvious that I can't speak Russian?"

The woman only smiled and made a waving motion with her hand, indicating if he wished to trade. America nodded and held out the lighter. The woman eyed it and took it from his hand, testing it to ensure it still had lighter fluid within before smiling and nodding to her satisfaction. She then turned to the young girl and spoke several short phrases so quickly America didn't even have time to make it out in his head.

The girl reached for one of the bread pastries, picking it up and handing it to him.

"Pirozhok," The girl said slowly, telling him what it was.*

America took it with a smile, repeating the word to the girl's satisfaction, and thanked them. Clutching the warm bread in his hands, America took a bite, discovering the inside was filled with some sliced mushrooms. It was warm and savory, and he rolled the food over his tongue before swallowing, feeling the heat from the food warming him. After eating cold food on the go for a week, America found freshly cooked food to be heaven in his mouth. He proceeded to wander through the train station, hoping to burn some time as he suspected Russia was still struggling to obtain enough tickets for all four of them, when something he hadn't heard in _years_ faded into being as he turned another corner.

An older man sat cross-legged on the floor, along with several others crowded around him. On the floor sat an ancient record player, with the wide horn and crank to wind it up. It made sense to use something like that, as the modern ones no longer worked, thanks to the power grid still being down from the flash. Music filled the hall, the musical notes and harmonies, the vocals and crescendos' were ingrained into his memory, into his past and culture. It was _The Beatles_, and the song in question _Let it Be_.*

It was already halfway over, but that didn't matter. The heavy feeling of dread and worry for his older _brother_ returned like a punch to the gut.

Deep down he knew he shouldn't worry over the elder nation. England was more than triple his own age and could very well take care of himself, having demonstrated this several times in his long history… but he just couldn't help himself. Having known England since his infancy, from just barely reaching his knee to standing several inches higher than him… he couldn't help but worry and wonder about him. If he was safe, if he was healthy, if he still held lingering injuries from the flash… if the aliens found out about his true identity-

_No._ America breathed in a deep, calming breath and turned away, retreating from the music and retracing his steps back to where he left Canada and Tony. _This is ridiculous, worrying like this... England is fine. He has to be!_

But the music echoed in the hall, the harmony of the piano and the guitars, the strikes of the snare, bass drums and hi-hat. America leaned against the wall and let his head fall back. The sound quality of the record and the player in use was questionable, but that didn't matter. He could hear the music clearly in his memories…they washed over him in a sudden wave. The precious few moments he remembered before the revolution, the distance between then directly after, the betrayal he felt when he sympathized with the confederacy, the worry he felt when he saw England for the first time in the trenches of World War one, the anger he felt upon entering World War two, and the immediate sense of belonging at working together with his elder brother…remembering the patience he had when dealing with his paranoia during the _50s_, comforting him when Kennedy was killed… sitting in the same room, listening to the same music, without arguing…(5)

The final piano chord ended the song and a lapse of silence followed until the next track on the record played, ironically titled _The Long and Winding Road_.

He stood there for a while, letting the music wash over him. How long had it been since he actually listened to music like this? Four years? Four and a half? It suddenly made his violin playing seem horrible compared to what he was hearing now.

When he finally opened his eyes, Ivan was standing before him.

"I…How long have you been standing there?" America asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

"I've been looking for you." Russia stated plainly, keeping the distance between them. "Did you get something to eat?"

America nodded. "Yeah…I did."

"That is good."

An awkward silence passed. Curiosity lurked behind the violet gaze Ivan had trained on him; the muscles of his arms and chest seemed tense with expectation.

"What is wrong, Alfred."

It was more of a demand than a request.

America immediately frowned and stared at the floor.

"What's…wrong?" America echoed, self-depreciating laugh stuttering past his lips. "I have a list a mile long. Take your pick."

Russia's face slowly grew smooth and expressionless. The mask he put on to hide something, to keep his emotions in check, to call on that deep well of patience that all the nations from _the old world_ had, the mask America and the other younger nations of the _new world_ still had yet to perfect. America didn't have enough fingers and toes to count the number of time's England used it on him.

"Alright!" America said suddenly, hating it when Russia used that expression on him. "It's just… you worry about your sisters…right?"

Russia blinked, and the mask eased away. "…All the time."

"Well…I know it's stupid and…I know he can take care of himself…" America started, trying to keep the conversation as normal as he could with humans surrounding them. "But… you were so vague when I asked you about En- Arthur…and…"

"-And…You have been worrying?"

America nodded, and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"…Just _tell_ me, Ivan." America asked suddenly. "I want to know. I _need_ to know."

Russia took a step forward and closed the distance between them.

"Arthur made me swear to never tell you… if you and I re-united."

"_What_?" America's frown deepened. "He _made you swear_?"

Russia nodded.

"Why?" America shouted suddenly, his temper getting the best of him. "I…I mean…" America lowered his gaze, noticing many people staring at them.

Russia merely gazed at him for a moment before the corners of his mouth quirked upward.

"…So this is why." Russia withdrew his right hand from his coat pocket and pulled America from the wall and half pushed, half-led him back down the hall where Canada and Tony were waiting. "If you are patient enough, I will tell you on the train."

"You…you'll break your promise? You'll tell me?"

Russia sighed softly.

"…Only because I know you won't leave me alone until I do."

* * *

To America's surprise, not many people gathered onto the train. He expected it to be crowded, with people wishing to relocate to a safer area, but it seemed the safety of the train was still in question, due to the scale of attacks and the high number of guards required to protect the train and railcars. The four shared a small room with four small bunks, two on each side of the room. There was a small space underneath the bottom two bunks for their traveling supplies to be stashed. A window was positioned against the outer wall between the bunks, the glass already fogged with frost from the temperature difference.

"Each railcar has a, ah…lavatory." Russia explained once they walked up the steps to the railcar and into their room. "There are five other rooms, not including our own."

Canada set his pack and personal items on the top left bunk. America frowned and stepped closer to his brother.

"I wanted the top bunk!" America whined. "I hate the bottom."

"You _always_ get the top." Canada explained with a roll of his eyes. "Besides, the last time you got the top you kept rolling off of it!"

"W-what?" America felt his mouth drop open and cheeks flush in sudden embarrassment. "That's not true!"

"Uh-huh."

"It's not!"

"Logically, it would be safer to have the bottom, wouldn't it Alfred?" Russia explained after sitting on the bottom bunk directly across from America's.

America frowned and stared at the wall, refusing to reveal his flushed face to the elder nation. "I'd rather not be closer to the roof anyway!" And with that, America flung his belongings to the bottom mattress and sat down with a huff, finally facing Russia.

Amusement shined clearly in his calm gaze, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards.

_What the hell is he smirking about?_ America narrowed his eyes at him and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well, you promised to tell me about En-…Arthur." America caught himself, forgetting the rule of using informal names only when in public. "So…tell Mattie and I what happened."

Matthew glanced at the two of them and took a seat beside America. Tony climbed up to the mattress above Russia's and started setting his little area up.

"…You're finally going to tell us?"

Matthew asked, focusing his stare on Russia. Russia nodded once and glanced to America before looking at the two of them. Russia stood and shut the door, locking it before returning to sit on the edge of his bunk.

"Arthur was in London when it happened."

America's arms dropped to his lap in surprise. Alarm registered on Canada's face as he leaned forward.

"-but he's alright? He's…he's okay?"

"Yes." Russia answered, keeping his voice low. "Scotland and Wales found him. They took care of him while one of them crossed the channel to contact the other European nations."

After the twins didn't make any move to respond, Russia continued.

"He was severely injured from the blast and was restricted to a bed until he was well enough to be moved to a wheelchair."

America swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He worked the muscles of his mouth and throat to speak, to say something-_anything_, but found himself rendered speechless.

Canada pressed both hands to his knees. "What about now? How was he when you last saw him?"

"The only time I actually saw him was when I told him about you," Russia turned his gaze to America. "And… that I thought you were dead. How…I thought that _both_ of you were dead."

America remembered the previous conversation he had with Russia back when his femur was first broken.

"He didn't believe me." Russia stated simply. "But… he looked better. He was using crutches and most of the bandages were gone, save for a few on his arms and one around his right eye."

America finally opened his mouth and managed to re-engage his vocal chords once more. "So…he's healing. He's getting better?"

"Slowly…yes."

Relief poured over him. An arm curled around his shoulders, and without looking America knew it was Canada. He scooted closer into the half-hug and reached out with his own arm, feeling the muscles of Canada's back relax at the good news. Russia merely watched them in silence for a long moment.

"See?" Canada said suddenly. "I told you he would be fine."

"…I know."

America smiled.

* * *

America took the first shift of over-night guard duty for their railcar.

The train was short on guards, and America, Canada, Russia and Tony had no problems in filling any empty positions.

After wrapping himself in as many layers of clothing as he could find in his personal belongings, he stepped outside, slamming the door to the car shut behind him. There was just enough room for two people to stand comfortably between each car. Chambering a round in the rifle that hung from his right shoulder, America adjusted _Texas_ and leaned back against the wall directly beside the door. The sky was overcast, and the landscape was covered with a fresh blanket of snow. The train traveled at a steady pace over the rails, the familiar _chugging _filling the air, a sound unique to the older engine.

Shivering, America shifted under the many layers and sighed, his breath clearly visible in the frigid air. Despite the cold, the sore muscles, the aching feeling digging deep into his chest, he couldn't help but feel happy. England was absolutely fine and healing rather well. _Hell he might even be fully healed by now…_

The ache intensified; wincing, America rubbed at his chest.

_But… we still have to defeat those fucking invaders…_

He frowned, and stared into the horizon the moved by at a rapid pace.

_Our military is virtually wiped out. Our modern technology is gone. Our major cities and centers of government destroyed. With so much of our population gone… there's no way we'd be able to strike directly…_ America's fists clenched. _No matter how satisfying it would be._

He turned away from the horizon and peered into the dark sky, the stars hidden away.

_If only we could find some kind of weakness…_

He sighed, shoulders wilting.

_I just hope this long trip is worth it… the European nations should have some info that could be useful…hopefully.

* * *

_

"Three sevens's."

Canada set three cards face down in the pile.

America stared at his brother.

"Bullshit."*

Canada smirked and picked up the cards he lay down. All three had the number seven printed in the corner.

"What!" America gaped and stared. "But I remembered setting down two earlier!"

"That was the last game."

"_Damnit_."

America picked up the entire discard pile and started sorting through it, trying to find doubles or triples of the same number or face card.

"If we were playing actual _poker_ instead of this lame game…"*

"Yes well unless you have something valuable playing poker is rather useless."

"There's always strip poker."

"…it's -10 degrees Celsius in here. Or have you forgotten with all those clothes your wearing?"

"…Shut up." America pouted. "Just because I can't handle the cold…"

Canada smiled and waved his tiny handful of cards at him. "You're just upset because I'm _winning_."

America glared at the fat pile of cards he clutched in his own hands. "Isn't there any other games we can play?"

"We've already exhausted most of them."

"We never played _Egyptian Rat-Screw_-"

"I already told you I'm not playing that with you again."

"Oh come _on_~"

"…Egyptian Rat-Screw?" Russia finally set his book down to peer at the twins. "Such a strange name. What is this game?"

"It's like playing War, only if there are doubles of a card, you slap the deck. The one who slaps the deck first gets all the cards…and if you get all of the cards, you win." America explained with a grin. "It's fun, you should join us."

"No way." Canada glared at him. "I can only imagine how dangerous it might get with _you two_ playing. And aren't you forgetting what happened last time?"

Russia stared at Canada, his violet gaze burning with curiosity. "What happened last time?"

America waved at his brother, nervous tension fluttering across his face. "Oh it's nothing really-"

"Alfred and Arthur got so into the game that when a double came up, Arthur slapped first, but the force of Alfred's hit broke his wrist."

America glared at Canada. "It was an _accident_!"

Russia stared at America, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

"_Really?_? Is that true?"

"It's not like I _meant_ to break his wrist!" America exclaimed in a rush. "Besides, he gloated about beating me for a _week_ after that…"

"Of course." Canada stated plainly and held his small stack of cards up between them. "Want to continue?"

America stared at the cards and felt a sudden wave of foolishness wash over him.

"No," he sighed, setting his cards down onto the floor where the twins sat cross-legged and reached up to scratch his face. "…I'm gonna go shave."

America stood up suddenly and left, taking his personal bag with him.

Canada sighed after a moment and gathered the cards together, shuffling them twice before putting them away. Russia stared at him expectantly, a question resting on the tip of his tongue.

"…Is he always like this about his strength?" Russia asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Canada glanced to the elder nation. "…Yeah." He turned around and stood, opening his own personal bag to put the deck of cards away. "Ever since the incident."

"…When he injured Arthur." Russia closed his book after marking his spot and set it beside his pillow. "I find it…interesting that his gift is unnatural strength...and yet he dislikes using it?"

Canada only nodded and turned away to climb onto his top bunk.

Russia watched him for a moment, rolling what just happened in his mind before standing and leaving the room.

* * *

America slammed the door shut to the lavatory and flung his personal bag to the corner of the metal sink.

_Just wanted to play something __**fun**__ and he brings __**that**__ up!_

He jerked the knob at the faucet, getting a slow trickle of water. Plugging the drain, he let the sink fill up for a few seconds before turning the valve closed. Digging through his personal bag, he pulled out a large block of soap that he and his brother had made by hand back in Alaska. The recipe was the same one they'd used when they were children. Lye from wood ash and animal fat all boiled down, mixed together and left to cool.* Carving a small piece off from the block, he set it in the sink and started packing the soap block away when a knock came at the door.

"Shaving, come back in five minutes."

_…although twenty minutes would be preferred. It'd be nice to get some time __**alone**__._

The knocks came again, only this time they were heavier and more urgent. Feeling annoyance rising in his gut, he hung his bag from the metal hooks on the wall and opened the door after unlocking it. Russia stood in the doorway, his face emotionless and set in the mask he so easily slid into place.

America frowned at him and envied his ability to hide his emotions when the world was falling apart around him. _Like England during World War Two…Germany was bombing the hell out of his airfields, and then his towns and cities… and he was so calm and steady. Then I get attacked by Japan once and…and totally lose my temper._

"…May I come in?" Russia asked after waiting a moment.

America refocused his stare at the elder nation and stepped to the side. Russia took the silent invitation and stepped into the tiny lavatory, the room barely large enough for the two grown men. America shut the door, locked it, and returned to the sink. Picking up the soap from the water, he scrubbed his hands against it until lather built up in the palm of his hand and smeared the white foam across his cheeks, upper lip, jawline and throat.

Russia leaned against the outer wall, his head resting against the small window pane.

"Why are you… acting like this, Alfred?" Curiosity filtered into Russia's inquiring tone.

"I'm sure Mattie told you…" America picked up the straight-edge and scrapped it across his left cheek. "You have no idea how easy it is for me to lose control-"

"I'm not talking about your gift."

America hesitated a moment, the razor a hair's breadth away from his jawline.

"I'm fine, Ivan."

He resumed his shaving, slowly and carefully scraping the hair away.

Russia stared at him from across the room, his violet eyes boring holes into the side of America's head. "You're fine?" He echoed. "_Really_?"

"You've never worried about me before so why start now?" America shot him a narrowed look and switched the blade to the other hand, starting on the right side of his face. "I just want to be left alone."

Russia sighed. "…You have always been a poor liar."

America jerked in surprise and cut the side of his face. "Shit!" He threw the blade into the sink and picked up a towel to dab at the paper-thin cut on the side of his face. "Damnit-"

Russia appeared at his side and took the towel from his face. Blood welled up and beaded, sliding down America's face.

"It's _nothing_-" America snatched the towel away. "I can handle this on my own."

"On your own?" Russia echoed again. "_Really_?"

America glared at his reflection in the smudged mirror and dabbed at the cut, dipping the towel into the soapy water before pressing it to the cut, wincing at the stinging sensation.

_I'm fine. Really. I don't need someone to talk to. I don't need someone to watch over me when I'm using a straight-edge razor. Really._

America stared at his face, his eyes boring into his reflection. Someone he didn't recognize stared back.

_…I'm not fine._

America dropped the towel into the water and smothered his face into his hands. A shuddering sigh escaped his throat. Fingers tugged his hands away from his face.

"Close your eyes."

America listened to the request and lifted his head up. The razor scrapped against his skin with expert practice, finishing in record timing. America wiped his face with the towel, keeping his eyes averted from Russia.

_Why am I always like this around you?_ He pulled the plug from the drain and set the towel on the edge of the metal rim of the sink. _Whenever I'm around you…I feel like I'm drowning._

"You have never had experience with such a huge invasion before." Russia reasoned. "These feelings…do not think of them as being… _weak_."

Annoyance rose in his chest, aimed more at himself than anyone else. "How can you be…so calm?" America sputtered, his voice working before his mind had the chance to catch up. "How can you not worry? I…" He stared at the sink, refusing to meet that intoxicating violet stare. "I can feel their pain _every_ day…_every_ night… hurting and suffering…" He rubbed at the sore spot in the center of his chest. "I see them in my dreams…that…" _…that hasn't happened since my civil war._

"The dreams are good." Russia admitted, running his palms up America's arms. "It's when you stop dreaming that you should worry about…"

America finally gave into his inner whim and closed the distance between them, letting his head fall to the elder nation's shoulder, letting his hands curl around his waist, letting his fingers clench the old military coat. Russia responded in kind, his hands sliding from America's arms to his back, running his fingers up and down his spine.

"You know that…we…I don't normally…have, uh…talks like this."

Russia hummed, his cheek resting against America's forehead.

"Don't expect this to happen a lot. Because…I, ah-"

"I understand."

America felt Russia squeeze him closer, pressing their bodies together. _…because…you're the same. You…don't like admitting your feelings…your __**weaknesses**__…_ America relished the physical contact and buried his face into Russia's neck covered with his scarf, vague scents of birch, chamomile* and that unique smell that was only _Ivan_ invaded his senses. He closed his eyes and let that combination of scents envelop him like the warm hands running up and down his spine.

"I feel it too. The aching…the throbbing…" Russia whispered, his breath ghosting across America's forehead. "But…you shouldn't fear it."

America pulled away suddenly and stared up at him, his eyes curious, questioning and transparent, the emotions raging beneath the blue pools bared for all to see. Russia stared back at him, only now the metaphysical mask wasn't in place. The centuries weighed heavily in his gaze, his most ancient memories dulled to images, smells, and physical sensations. The age gap between them could not have been more present than it was now.

"The pain I feel now reminds me that I am still alive. That my people are fighting against the threat, surviving and living…even now, in these times." Russia finally released America, reached for his scarf, and started unwinding it from his neck. "Just as our scars serve to remind us of our vitality."

"Wait-" America blanched and gripped Russia's hands to stop him. Never had Russia _willingly_ shown him his scars before. Always he kept them covered and hidden away. "You-…you don't have to do this. I…I know that this is…"

America's voice faded at Russia's piercing stare. The unwrapping continued until it fell away with a flourish. The white puckered skin of the scars, layer after layer, bare for all to see. America averted his eyes, unwilling to participate until a large hand gripped his chin and forced his gaze back to Russia's neck.

"I can't, Ivan, this is-"

"Shhh~…" Russia reached for his hand and brought it up to his neck. "…solnishko moyo."*

America flushed at the endearment, his cheeks turning red. Russia's eyelids fluttered, as if he were forcing them to stay open. Swallowing audibly, America felt his fingertips graze across the white, puckered, scarred lines of his neck, many crisscrossing and running over each other in layer after layer. America steeled himself and leaned forward, pressing his fingertips against Russia's neck and running them down the chorded muscle surrounding his throat. A layer of cold sweat appeared at Russia's hair line, America noticed and raised his other hand to press into the white skin. Tilting his head, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to his bare neck for the first time.

Russia sucked in a gasp, his shoulders tensing at the unexpected contact. America rubbed his neck with his fingertips apologetically and pulled his lips away for a moment before pressing them against the scarred skin once more. A shuddering sigh escaped Russia's throat, and Alfred kissed a line from his collarbone, up the side of his throat to his earlobe where he sucked it into his mouth. A deep, contented sigh rumbled in the elder nation's chest. America felt two hands wander at his backside, steadily moving lower, beyond his waist, to his hips.

Letting his teeth graze across the earlobe, he returned to Russia's pale neck, peppering kisses across the scarred skin. Russia tilted his head away, baring his neck to America's willing mouth. Lips pressed to the flesh marked by layers of scars that lingered on even after hundreds of years. Finding one scar that looked particularly painful upon its creation, America returned to kiss it twice before darting his tongue out between his lips to drag across the puckered skin. Russia groaned at the contact, a deep rumbling in his chest. The hands lingering at America's hips suddenly found themselves at his rear, squeezing and grinding their hips together. America's head fell away in a surprised gasp, and Russia mashed their lips together in a searing kiss. Small, heated sounds of pleasure came from their joined lips and curling tongues.

Three polite knocks sounded at the door.

Russia stilled and broke the kiss.

"No~…" America whispered negatively, his voice bordering on a whine. "Just five more minutes…"

"…Only five minutes?" Russia whispered, arching an eyebrow at him. "Not ten?"

"…Five minutes is all I need." America couldn't help the wicked smile that split his face in two. "But I'm sure it'll take you longer though, being so much older…"

"Oh _really_…?" Russia leveled a heated stare at him, the corners of his mouth curling upward. "If I remember… you seemed more than satisfied with my performance."

America smirked and leaned forward to press his lips to Russia's.

The knocks sounded again, only this time an older female voice shouted angrily through the door in Russian.

Russia pulled away, the reluctance clear in the possessive stare he focused on America before stepping away. He reached for the scarf and wrapped it around his neck.

"What'd she say? They…couldn't hear us…could they?"

Russia hummed thoughtfully and smiled in response.

Scarlet flooded America's cheeks as his gaze dropped to the floor. He reached for his backpack and shaving supplies, shoving everything away and yanked the door open, nearly tearing it off its hinges in nervousness. An older woman stood with her young daughter who was dancing from side to side in the hallway, her legs pressed together. America moved past them, unable to make eye contact as he fled to the safety of their room.

Russia apologized for taking up so much time and left the lavatory, amusement twinkling in his gaze.

Canada lay on his side, pretending to be asleep even though America knew he wasn't. Tony, on the other hand, glared at him from his bunk.

"Since when does it take a fucking hour to shave the hair off your face?"

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Things get tense on the train as a girl falls ill due to a mysterious poisoning; America discovers the one responsible and finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

Extra Notes (Sorry for them being so long)

1. "**Ah… Skol'ko eto… stoit?** - How much is this? [According to this website I found (I try to avoid using google/yahoo translate Dx)]

2. "**Ты говоришь по-русски?"** - Do you speak Russian? [From the same website I used for the phrase above]

3. "**Pirozhok"** - [From Wiki] "…Is a generic word for individual-sized baked or fried buns stuffed with a variety of fillings."

**4. The Beatles ~ Let It Be **- The Beatles music is actually very popular in Russia, and I figured that of all the older records that might have survived the _flash_ it would a record of theirs :)

5. Basically I just simplified England and America's relationship/encounters into a single paragraph. From the time of America being a colony, to his civil war (England was officially neutral, but supported the Confederacy, much to the North's anger), to the World Wars, to McCarthy-ism in the 50s, to the Kennedy Assassination and the British Invasion of the 60s.

6. "**Bullshit."** - There's actually a card game that's called this (the more "proper" name would be cheat I believe). It's where you slit the deck evenly among the players and look for doubles of a number/face card. The first person starts with Ace's, then the next twos, then threes, fours, etc. you put the cards face down so no one see's them. Of course, you could lie and say you put down two aces when really you have a 6 or a 7. That's when the other players come in to challenge you if they suspect anything.

7. "**If we were playing actual **_**poker**_** instead of this lame game…"** - I figured America would be good at poker (but not at normal card games), thanks to the large amount of money gambling/tourism provides to his economy :) Plus he has Las Vegas and I figured that would also affect him.

8. **The recipe was the same one they'd used when they were children. Lye from wood ash and animal fat all boiled down, mixed together and left to cool.** - Early colonists and pioneers in the America's made soap just like this. They would save up their wood ashes in a large wooden bucket with a hole at the bottom, and pour boiling water over the top. As the water trickles through the ashes, it draws out the lye. Then they'd save up the animal fat from the meat they ate, and boil it down to a liquid (it sounds gross, I know) and then mix the lye and the liquid fat together. Once cooled, it formed soap :) See, reading Hetalia Fanfiction can actually teach you stuff! /bricked

9. "**America relished the physical contact and buried his face into Russia's neck covered with his scarf, scents of birch, chamomile* and that unique smell that was only Ivan invaded his senses."** - According to this website online, the Birch Tree is Russia's National Tree, while Chamomile is Russia's national flower.

10. "…**solnishko moyo."** - my little sun  
**  
**


	9. Chapter 9

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language & violence.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

A/n: Sorry for the late update! I got busy with another Russia/America fill at the Kink-meme (which I'll be posting here sometime this/next week). Expect ch10 to be uploaded within another day or so.

* * *

America lay buried under the blanket he picked up back in Alaska, curled and facing the wall. Only three hours had passed since they were rudely interrupted in the lavatory, and America was still feeling the lingering effects of the encounter. His lips felt swollen from the kissing he lavished on Russia's neck, and he could still feel the texture of that scarred skin on his tongue… he shuddered and ignored the painful sensation at his groin.

_It's late_ He tried telling himself. _Everyone's either trying to sleep or already asleep… Matthew and Tony… and Ivan. How in the hell can he just fall asleep so fast after that?_ Sitting up, he shoved the blanket away and pulled out his rifle that was lying under his bed. Picking up an ammo cartridge, he slapped it in place, pulled his jacket on and wrapped his own scarf around his neck and face. Picking up a black knitted skullcap, he slid it on and left the room, rifle in tow. _Might as well give one of the guards a break if I can't sleep…_

He opened the door that lead outside and with a motion of his hand, told the guard he would take up his shift. A thankful look blossomed on the guards face, and he thanked America in his native tongue before stepping inside. America stepped over to where the guard was standing previously and leaned against the wall.

The sky was overcast with thick clouds; snow whipped through the air and flew past the train, some catching on the lenses of his glasses and face. Shivering, he wrapped his arms around his chest and wiggled his feet and toes in his boots. _I wonder where we are in Russia…we had to have come far since we got on…_ America pulled away from the wall and paced across the small wooden platform. _I wonder…I'll bet the states are getting ready for thanksgiving…at least…as much of a thanksgiving they can have in times like these._ America leaned against the wall away and let his eyes fall closed. _Thanksgiving…it was one of the only times I was able to gather all my states into a single room and not have any arguments or fistfights break out… and with the harvest season ending, there's plenty of food to last through the winter…hopefully._

America's shoulders wilted. _I can't keep doing this…they're all fine, they can take care of themselves while I'm gone. And…and if they need help, they have each other to lean on… they've never failed to remind me-_

The door to the train sudden flew open, and an older woman, _the same one who'd interrupted my time with Ivan_ America thought grumpily, stood in the doorway. She spoke quickly, her words tumbling over one another so fast that America could hardly make anything out.

"Wait-what?" America stepped forward, and recognized the universal emotion of fear grip her facial expression. "What happened?" America asked, his voice now serious, even though he knew the woman couldn't understand him.

She touched his arm and made a _follow me_ motion. America nodded, deciding that non-verbal body language was working best, and followed the woman down the hall. She came to a doorway at the far end of the train and opened the door. Three other people were inside, including what looked to be her husband, a younger man and the same girl who was with the woman earlier. The girl was lying on the bed, with the others sitting cross-legged at her bedside. The husband stood from his position and the boy, who looked to be a pre-teen, remained at the girl's bed side. The woman spoke a few quick phrases to the husband, who nodded and stepped away from the bedside to give him room.

America swallowed and stepped inside, his eyes focused on the girl. _Something happened… she must be sick?_ America knelt beside the boy and checked the girl's vitals. _It's only been three hours since I last saw her…and she appeared to be fine before._ Her pulse was low, lower than normal for a young girl. _…I can't figure out what's wrong with her without being able to talk to them…_ He stood up and headed for the door.

The mother reacted first, worry flooding her face. She spoke rapidly and motioning to him, and then to the girl.

"I'll be _right back_, I promise! I-" He tried summoning up what little Russian he knew into a phrase he found himself using far more than he liked. "Ah…Ya ni… gavaru pa Ruski?"**

It took a moment for them to understand his horribly accented Russian, but the mother nodded in understanding. America turned and rushed to his room, shoving the door open and rushing to Russia's bedside.

"Ivan, you gotta wake up I need your help-"

A half-moan, half growl rumbled from Russia's chest and he turned away, an adorable pout crossing his face.

"I _know_ you're tired but you _have_ to get up and be my translator. _Please_~?"

Russia batted America's hands away, a scowl crossing his face. "Nyet… Pozhaluista…"* Russia mumbled in a sleepy daze, already falling back asleep.

"Look, I _know_ you're tired and I _know_ you hate translating anything when you just wake up but I _need_ your help." America frowned and shook him. "That little girl from earlier is sick and I can't figure out what's wrong until I'm able to talk to the family."

Silence prevailed for a moment before an irritated groan emanated from him. The bed creaked, and he slowly rolled over, sitting up and sliding his long legs off the bed. His ashy-blond hair was sticking in nearly every direction, his clothes rumpled, and his violet eyes leveling an annoyed glare at him. America moved away, smiling thankfully as Russia slowly rose from the bed, stretching his shoulders and back as he arose. Yawning, he pulled his blue, frayed shirt back on and followed America from the room, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

They returned, and America turned to Russia.

"I need you to ask them what she drank or ate in the past day."

Russia ran that through his head a moment, his mind working slowly as it pulled itself from the glaze of sleep. After a moment, he translated it to the mother, who nodded and picked up a full blue plastic bottle. America took it and opened the cap, smelling the liquid.

"She didn't eat anything?" America asked again to be positive.

Russia nodded his head. "It was sealed in a bag."

"Okay…then it couldn't have come from the food…Has she gotten any cuts or bruises today?"

Russia translated more quickly this time, finally seeming to wake up. The mother appeared thoughtful for a moment before stepping over to the girl and lifting the sleeve up her right arm. Blue and purple bruises covered her skin, and the mother spoke quickly, seeming to explain, in a dismayed tone, about the bruises. Russia took it all in, his expression slowly growing narrowed in thought.

"She says that her children were playing and the bruises happened at the slightest bump or hit."

America frowned. He didn't like where this was heading at all.

"What about her digestive system. Has she noticing anything different or alarming? Like blood?"

Russia stared at him. "…What are you suggesting?"

"I…I don't want to say until we get a yes or a no to this question."

"…Fine." Russia turned to the mother once more and asked her. The woman hesitated, and a small, barely audible да escaping her lips.

Russia turned to America, knowing he didn't need a translation for that.

America stared at Russia, and then glanced to the girl who lay deadly still on the bed.

"…Where is the water storage?"

* * *

"Each car has its' own tank?" America inquired, stepping into a tiny storage room barely large enough for one person. The room was dark, save for the lit candle America held.

"Yes." Russia said from the doorway. "It runs off a…ah…syphon system. We had to redesign it to save power…"

America stared at the metal tank that was embedded into the ceiling. "And this feeds the faucet and the toilet?" America touched the tank and found it to be surprisingly warm despite the frigid temperatures outside.

"Yes."

"I'll need to open the tank up…" America felt around the tank until a large opening appeared under his fingertips. "Can you hold this candle?"

Russia took the candle and held it high in the doorway. Taking precautions, he slid his jacket and shirt off, leaving him bare from the waist up, as he didn't want to get his clothes wet. A sudden stab of self-consciousness washed over him at his abdomen and chest being bare. His skin held the scars of the _flash_, many crisscrossed and tore across his once unblemished skin. He'd kept it hidden away from the others, not wanting them to see the lasting effects of the invasion.

Swallowing the lump down his throat, America pressed his fingers around the opening, which seemed to be a metal cap that screwed shut, and slowly twisted it open. Water sloshed and spilled over the minute the cap came loose. "_Damnit-_…" Water poured over America's chest and dripped down his body, soaking his jeans. Quickly, he slid his arm through the opening and ran his fingers on the bottom of the tank. Tiny grains of _something_ lay along the bottom. Eyes narrowing, he scooped some up, pressing them together with his fingers and withdrew his arm, slapping the cap into place to prevent more water from escaping.

Russia leaned in close as America held his hand out. Tiny white grains covered his palm and fingers. Raising his hand to his mouth, America cautiously dipped the tip of his tongue to taste a finger that was covered in the white substance. A bitter taste flooded his mouth, and he spat it out.

"What is it?" Russia asked, his voice and demeanor deadly serious.

"…It's rat poison."

"…_Rat poison_?" Russia peered at America in surprise. "Really?"

"I'm positive." America screwed the cap shut on the tank and sifted through the white, grainy substance on his hand. "It's rat poison."

"What makes you so sure?"

"…Let's just say the 1920s wasn't a good decade for me."*

Russia stared at him expectantly.

"It's a long story." America said in a rush. "And if you're so worried why don't you try a taste."

America held his hand up to Russia's face, who hesitated a moment before swiping a few grains on his finger and dipped it onto his tongue. A scowl erupted on his face and he spat it out.

"Definitely a poison. The symptoms of the girl fit with rat poisoning…" Russia rubbed and flicked the poison off his finger. "…This supplies the water for this single car. If this one has been contaminated…then we must check the others."

America picked up a rag that had gotten soaked from the water, and used it to smear the poison off his hand. "…The people who got off this train at the station seemed to be in perfect health." America reasoned. "So…someone boarded the train with us, and did this."

"Do you think…" Russia glanced in the hallway and turned back to America, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Someone is being controlled. Like what happened with Alexei…?"

A cold shudder rushed up America's spine. "But…it's been almost four days since we boarded. Alaska said they were _dead_."

"If _they_ can control the dead like Alexei explained, then I'm sure they found a way to halt the effects of decomposition."

"We…we were being followed." America felt a chill surround him, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "…What if… they found those guards you shot…and tracked us to the train station? Ivan… if…if they're going to such great lengths to follow us, to kill us… then they have to know about…_us_. About… who we really are."

Russia stared at America, rolling this turn of events over in his mind. Firm determination crossed his gaze, and he stepped away. "I'm going to gather the guards and tell them what has happened. Each water tank will be checked and emptied if found positive-"

"The thing I'm worried about is treatment." America shifted from one foot to the other. "Rat poisoning doesn't start to show until after a day or two. We'll need activated carbon-"

"The train won't have medicine like that on hand." Russia interrupted. "The next town large enough to hold medical supplies is a day away."

_Fuck_." America cursed. "What about food? Rat poison gets rid of the vitamin K in your body… we'll need fresh vegetables. Like when I was poisoned-"

"_You_ were poisoned?" Russia's voice lowered suddenly, a threatening edge appearing. "By who?"

"It's a long story." America sighed. "Look, the best way to get rid of rat poisoning, if it's been recently ingested, is by vomiting. _But_, since that girl is so sick, it's safe to assume that we've been drinking it for a day now, as it acts faster in younger children. All we can do now is try to replenish our vitamin K and make sure we don't accidentally cut ourselves, or else we'll bleed out…because it also acts like a blood thinner."

Russia frowned and appeared to be in deep thought. Finally, he nodded in agreement.

"Fine. I will tell the guards this and check the first aid supplies…they might have vitamin supplements…" Russia paused a moment, and ran his gaze over America's bare torso. "And you…should get out of those clothes."

"…_Huh_?" America felt his cheeks heat up. "But-"

"They're soaked in rat poison, are they not?"

It felt as if he'd been dunked in ice water.

"…Right."

Russia lingered a moment more, the corners of his mouth curling upward into a smirk. "You were expecting me to say something else?"

America glared at him.

"Shut up."

* * *

An hour had passed since America returned to the room he shared and woke Canada and Tony up to tell them what happened.

"You're _serious_?" Canada stared at his brother, shock registering on his face. "Someone actually…put rat poison in our water supply?"

America nodded, his lips pressed together in a frown. "If it weren't for that girl reacting so quickly to the poison…"

"What about her? Is she alright?"

"About as _alright_ as she can get… I've checked with the other passengers and they don't have anything to help…" America sighed and dug through his bag for a spare change of pants while he sat on the edge of his bed with nothing on save for his boxers. "So I gave them the rest of those freeze-dried veggies I've been saving since we left Alaska… those should help for now."

"Have you found whoever did this?"

"No…" America pulled out a pair of jeans he'd worn before his new replacement. They were full of holes, the seams barely holding together. America scowled at them and looked them over, not liking their condition. "But Ivan is telling the guards about it, so they can keep a look out."

"Fucking invaders." Tony spat, his eyes narrowed in anger. "Little shits, pu pu!"

Canada nodded, agreeing with Tony's declaration instantly.

"Fucking invaders, _indeed_."

* * *

Canada sat beside his twin on the bottom bunk. Tony sat on his own bed, while Russia closed the door as he entered the room.

"So…it's official?" Canada glanced to Russia as he made his way to his bed. "They know about us now?"

"…It seems that way." Russia took a seat on his bed.

"They want us dead, obviously." America sighed and pulled out the tiny sewing kit he kept hidden away. If only England could see him now, sewing the holes shut and the seams back together when he'd teased him so often about his embroidery and knitting…_I'd never hear the end of it._

"Maybe they think they can…somehow…affect the people if they hurt us…" Canada pondered, turning back to his brother. "…or poison us in hopes of poisoning our citizens at the same time?"

"Probably." Russia pulled his bag to the side and withdrawing a TT-30 handgun.* "There could be more than one of _them_ on the train."

"We'll have to be extra careful from now on. With them being able to control people…" Canada shuddered in repulsion. "They're going to try and find ways to kill us…"

America pulled out a blue thread and prepared a needle.

"What did you tell the guards?" America shot a look at Russia, who was checking his pistol for damage during their travels. "Do…do they know?"

"They know enough to get the job done." Russia admitted. "I informed them of the new ability of the aliens. They were…displeased."

"I can only imagine how _displeased_ they were." America sighed and started sewing shut a hole on his older jeans. "What are we going to do now?"

"The guards will include the water storage in their duties, but it will add additional strain."

"Alfred and I can help." Canada leaned forward, concern filling his gaze. "And…were there any other instances of poisoning effects on the other railcars?"

"A few, but many were showing signs since early last morning. Without medicine… we can only hope for the best."

* * *

America awoke with a pain stabbing in his ribs. Gasping, he clutched his hand to the center of his chest, trying to will the pain away to no avail. It was hot and burning, spreading like wildfire through his chest cavity, his lungs, and his throat. A sickening lurch erupted from his stomach, and he stumbled off his bed, through the door he shoved open, and down the hall to the lavatory that was blessedly empty. Letting the door automatically shut behind him, he felt to his knees and emptied the contents of his stomach into the metal toilet bowl.

Minutes past and he gasped for air, falling back on his rear. His back hit the wall, and he clutched his chest, trying to ease the throbbing pain away.

_Fuck…__**fuck**__ why is it so bad tonight?_ Sweat dripped from his hairline and past his temples and neck. _Why the fuck is it so hot in here?_

Raising a hand to his forehead, his skin felt feverish to the touch.

_This…it can't be the rat poison. I didn't ingest enough…it takes a lot of poison to really affect me…_ Swallowing the lump back down his throat, he pressed his head to the cold wall, relishing the soothing cool touch. _Then…if I'm feverish…and it isn't from the poison or illness…_

Wincing, he opened his eyes and pulled out a few disposable tissues from beneath the sink, wiping his face clean.

_…Wildfires._ Picking himself up from the wall, he returned to his knees and flushed the toilet. _Always those damn wildfires…_

Standing, he crossed the room and leaned against the sink, turning the water on without care, as Russia had made sure the water in the supply tanks were all replenished. Cupping his hands under the thin stream, he let the frigid water pool in his hands for a moment before raising it to his face. The sudden cooling sensation felt like heaven on his skin. But the as it faded away, the wildfire-driven fever raged on.

_…With the way things are now I'll probably be like this for a month…maybe even two…_

Turning the water off, he straightened and stepped away.

_Gotta get some sleep…_

Frowning, he exited the lavatory and started making his way down the hall when the sounds of clinking pipes came from the opposite end of the train. Turning around, America stared down the hall, finding the tiny door to the storage compartment wide open. Eyes narrowing, he turned away from the door to his room and started down the hall. The clinking of pipes continued to sound in the silent railcar. Creeping forward, his footsteps were silent, thanks to his bare feet.

As the storage room door slowly came into view, dark splotches on the floor appeared. America crouched and pressed his fingers to the stains. Withdrawing his hand, his fingertips came away stained in fresh crimson. Alarm rising in his already throbbing chest, he raised himself back to his feet and peered inside the storage room. A middle-aged man stood directly under the tank, one hand pressed to the opening, the other sliding something inside. Water dripped down his arms, soaking his old, frayed clothing. His hair was tangled and matted with dried blood. Something metallic covered the back of his neck, all sharp and glistening in the light of the single candle that sat on the floor behind him.

_It's him._ America glared, feeling anger flooding his chest. _He's the one that contaminated the tanks?_

"Hey!"

The man gasped, spun on his heel and aimed a double-barreled shotgun at America's chest in the span of three seconds.

_…Holy shit._

America slowly held his hands up to show he was unarmed.

Water poured from the uncovered opening in the water tank, spilling across the floor.

"Ты что-нибудь видел?"* The man demanded in a low, but harsh tone.

America stared and tried remembering any ounce of Russian he could while decoding what the man just said.

The man didn't give America the chance to complete his mental translation.

"Что ты видел?"* The man growled, his fingers clenching on the gun and tightened on the trigger.

"Just calm the _fuck_ down." America demanded, unable to make out any of the Russian language. "And take your finger **off** that trigger."

The man didn't move and only repeated himself again, this time speaking far slower, making sure to stretch the words out in order for America to make sense of it.

"…Oh." America tried keeping the glare from twisting his face into a scowl. "I saw _enough_."

The man glared at him, but he remained eerily calm. Adrenaline should've been coursing through the stranger's body right now. He should be shaking and trying to contain the uncontrollable surge of energy that was filling his body. America knew this, because he's been in a thousand situations like this before, only usually it was from one his own citizens.

"Why were you putting rat poison in the tanks?" America asked, keeping his voice calm and level. "Why did you do it?"

The man remained silent, his fingers only tightened on the gun.

"What is that thing on the back of your neck?"

The man's eyes widened, a kind of slow realization dawning within the cold grey gaze.

"да…"* The man started, and slowly lifted his head up from the shotgun barrel. "Ты тот, о ком меня предупреждали..."*

America could only make out a few words, but it was enough. Suspicion arose within him, momentarily pushing away the throbbing pain that still burned throughout his body.

"What do you mean?" America growled. "Who are you talking about? _Who_ warned you about me?"

"You…know who _we_ are."

The man's accent was thick; the words forced from his mouth and sounding as if he'd never spoken English before.

America slowly let his arms fall from their peaceful symbol in the air to either side of him. The nervous, alarmed look slowly fell away, leaving a narrow, angry glare in place.

"Did you kill him?"

"…Нет."*

"Bullshit." America sneered, and silently wished he'd kept his magnum revolver with him. "You killed him…and snuck onto this train using him as your _fucking dummy_."

"All of you…deserve to die."

America stared at him, the words echoing through his mind. _We…deserve to die? Humanity…the human race… deserves to die?_ Memories of his beloved cities flashed across his mind, all images, sounds and smells… the music, food and culture… all gone to oblivion. The people he came across in his northern travels, gunned down, from the single runaway to huge families defending themselves.

_They deserved to die?_

Images of his brother fighting to defend himself. Russia as their prisoner, chained and hidden away. The abandoned homes falling apart. The old woman and the young girl selling food at the train station. The man with the old music records. The room with the pastel blue walls and pink butterflies…and bullet holes and blood soaking the white plush carpeting… the two little girls clutching the guns in their dead fingers.

Anger boiled within his chest.

"…Is that so?" America glared, his voice soft and quiet. "Well… it's gonna take a lot more than rat poison to kill us."

The man raised the gun to his face and squeezed the trigger. America grabbed the barrel and pushed the gun upward. An explosion of noise and splintered wood erupted in the railcar. Screams and shouts, thuds of people hitting the floor at the shock of the noise. The man jerked the gun away from America and reached up for the emergency brake release cable, curling his fingers around it and yanking it downward.*

The trains emergency brakes were immediately applied, the metallic squeal of metal scrapping against metal filled the air. America flew backward and slammed to the floor, knocking the air from his lungs. With the train still skidding forward, the man forced himself to his feet and turned to the exiting door behind him.

"Hey!" America shouted, jumped to his feet onto to nearly collapse to the floor. "Get back!"

Doors opened, one slamming and cracking against the wall rather loudly.

"Alfred!" Came his brother's voice. "Where are you? What happened?"

The man kicked the door open and jumped from the train.

"I found out who did it!" America yelled back. "He's getting away!"

Not caring if he was dressed only in the jeans he'd mended earlier, a simple t-shirt and only socks, he ran down the hall to the open door.

"No- wait!" Canada ran from the room. "Don't-!"

The train finally skidded to a stop just as America ran outside into the falling snow. Thick forest surrounded them on either side, the snow newly disturbed on the left. Jumping from the train, he landed on the hard permafrost and ran into the woods after the man. Canada's shouts flooded the air behind him, but America ignored them.

_I'm not gonna let this bastard get away! Not after what he did… and what he __**said**__._

The woods were eerily silent, his gasping breaths sounding deafening in the frigid chill. Slowing to a walk, America peered at the ground, finding the tracks taking a sharp turn up ahead. Sucking in a deep breath, he sprinted forward and turned around a tree.

The man suddenly appeared at his left, raised the butt of his shotgun and smashed it across his face.

"_Ahh_!" America collapsed to the ground, pain erupting across his face. "God _damnit_-"

The man raised the gun once more and brought it down on America's ribs.

"Nggh-!"

Growling, America grabbed a rock that was partially buried under the permafrost. With little effort, he tore it free from the frozen soil and threw it at the man. The rock landed solidly on his knee, drawing out a shout of pain as it instantly gave out. The man fell to the ground, but quickly scrambled away and tried lifting himself back to his feet. Rolling away, America jumped to his feet and ran to the man, lunging for the shotgun. The man wielded the shotgun as if it were long blunt object and slammed the end of it into America's legs, aiming for his knees. Pain erupted as something popped out of place in his right knee.

"_Fucking-_!"

America caught the shotgun mid-swing, tore it from his grasp and snapped the gun barrel in half with a twist of his wrist. The man paused a moment, stilled by the sudden show of miraculous strength.

"Go head, hit me again!" America flung the two halves of the gun away and reached for the man's shirt. "You piece of-"

The man sneered, regaining his former vigor and lunged at America, slammed him back to the ground and encircled his fingers around America's neck. America grabbed the man's arms and tried forcing him away. The two rolled around on the rocky, snow covered ground, the only one making noise being America, the other man eerily silent, his skin remaining pale and his breathing non-existent.

The ground suddenly fell away, and the two fell down a steep incline, rolling over tree roots, rocks and bushes, picking up speed and rolling faster and faster until the ground evened out into a smooth flat surface. The two separated, America sliding away from the man until they came to a stop.

Gasping, America let his lungs suck in the frigid air for a moment before opening his eyes. They lay in a wide open spot, the trees lining across them on either side in a neat curving line. Something warm and wet trickled down his face. Reaching up, he dragged his fingers across his forehead, wincing as they hit a patch of torn up skin. Groaning, he slowly tried to pick himself up off the _oddly flat_ and _surprisingly level_ ground when the sound of ice cracking came from below. Feeling his heart falling to the pit of his stomach, America froze and slowly, gently, lay back down onto the ice.

After glancing about, America found that he and the dead, _hijacked_ human had slid onto a frozen, unstable river.

"_Fuck_."

A grunt came from nearby, and the sharp, metallic sounds of ice cracking and crunching together exploded in the still forest air.

"What the- stop moving!" America jerked his head around and found the man struggling to his feet. "Hey! _Hey_-!"

"Alfred!"

Canada's voice ran clear in the frigid air.

"I'm down here!" America yelled back. "On the frozen river!"

The man growled at America, the Russian phrases garbled beyond America's comprehension.

"Stop-!"

The ice split apart with a deafening shatter.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Alfred is rescued from the frozen river, has a hard time dealing with the raging wildfires back home, there's a time skip, and the group reunites with Ukraine, Belarus & Lithuania

Extra Notes (You all are probably sick of my long notes D: )

1. "**Ya ni… gavaru pa Ruski?"** - I don't speak Russian (Again, not sure on this)

2. "**Nyet… Pozhaluista…"** - No…Please… (I've seen No spelled as "Nyet" and "Net". Are they both right or is one wrong or are they just different versions? Like male/female?)

3. "**да"** – Yes

4. "…**Let's just say the 1920s wasn't a good decade for me."** - The 1920s, or The Roarin' Twenties (And a host of other nick names), was when gang violence/organized crime and bootlegging alcohol was at its peak in America. From Wiki: "Prohibition of alcohol occurs in the United States. Prohibition in the United States began January 16, 1919, with the ratification of the Eighteenth Amendment to the U., and it continued throughout the 1920s. Prohibition was finally repealed in 1933. Organized crime turns to smuggling and bootlegging of liquor, led by figures such as Al Capone, boss of the Chicago Outfit."

5. **Rat Poison** - From eHow [Cause I trust them more than wiki]: "Rat poisoning usually does not produce symptoms in humans for several days. It can cause internal bleeding. A victim will experience weakness. Evidence of bleeding in the body will manifest with bruising. Rat Poison can have these symptoms: Digestive Effects, Bleeding (Internal as well), Dizziness, Lethargy, and ultimately death." I've also read that it depletes the body's supply of Vitamin K, which can cause all kinds of illnesses in and of itself.

6. **TT-30 handgun** - [From Wiki] "The TT-30 (Russian: 7,62-мм самозарядный пистолет Токарева образца 1930 года, 7,62 mm Samozarjadnyj Pistolet Tokareva obrazca 1930 goda) is a Russian semi-automatic pistol. It was developed in the early 1930s by Fedor Tokarev as a service pistol for the Soviet military, in order to replace the Nagant M1895 revolvers that had been in use since tsarist times."

7. "… **reached up for the emergency brake release cable, curling his fingers around it and yanking it downward."** - As I've mentioned before, the only railcar I've been in is about 100 years old. This railcar had this cable that acted as an emergency break that stopped the entire train. Now I'm sure the railcars used in Russia are far more modern and probably don't have this, but I couldn't find any information about them online so I had to use creative license. Apologies?

[The Russian from here on was translated by the wonderful silvensorrow at LJ. Thank you!]

8. "**Ты что-нибудь видел?"** - (Ti chto-nibud' videl?) Did you see anything?

9. "**Что ты видел?"** - (Chto ti videl?) What did you see?

10. "**да…"** - (Da) Yes

11. "**Ты тот, о ком меня предупреждали..."** - (Ti tot, o kom menya preduprezhdali) You're that man they warned me about...

12. "…**Нет."** - (Nyet) No  
**  
**


	10. Chapter 10

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine, Lithuania/Belarus & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language & violence.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

* * *

Air gushed from his lungs as he fell head-first into the icy current. The frigid river water dragged him under, embracing and filling his every pore, searing the heat from his body. Icy pain touched every surface of his skin, stabbing, jolting, prickling sensations that were unending and unyielding. The current was strong, pulling him away from the hole in the ice as America kicked and struggled against the current, forcing his limbs to work even as numbness settled in. Smooth, rounded river rocks pounded into his spine, the current twisting and moving him every which way. America thrust his hands out to the surface, only to find the bottom of the ice to be as flat and uniform as it was on top.

Lungs burning, America moved his hands and feet to the river bottom. Within second America's right foot caught on a large flat rock that jutted out from the rocky floor. Pushing his other foot across the current to grab onto the edge of the rock, America used his legs to pull himself closer. Gaining leverage in the current, he forced his fingers into a fist and drove his right hand through the ice. A muted _crack_ sounded under water, and gray sunlight filled his vision.

His lungs seized suddenly, and the air was forced up his throat. Air bubbles broke the surface, and water filled America's mouth and throat. Frantically waving his arms, America grabbed the edge of the hole in the ice with both hands and yanked himself upward. His face broke the surface, and he sucked in a greedy gasp of air before coughing up the water he'd involuntarily sucked down.

"Alfred, _Alfred_!" A voice called, sounding low pitched and drawn out, almost as if he were playing a video in slow motion. "Hold on!"

Two blurry figures entered his vision. America suddenly realized he'd left Texas on the nightstand beside his bunk.

"Don't let go!"

The taller figure stepped onto the river, crashing through the ice. The firm, strong ledge America held onto suddenly gave way, and the current went to suck America under once more before a large hand caught his wrist. Yanking him upward, he broke the surface, coughing and sputtering, weakly trying to force the water back up his throat. The blurry figure picked him up, two arms holding him up and out of the water. The frozen air bit and stung at him, causing him to feel far colder than when he was in the water. The arms shook him once, twice, before the voice returned, shouting something to the other blurry figure before turning back to him and leaning in close.

"Don't fall asleep."

* * *

"America…_America_."

His body felt heavy and weak. Groaning, he tilted his head back.

"Don't fall asleep." Large hands shook him. "Open your eyes."

America pursed his lips, peeled his eyelids open. The woods were gone, leaving a four-walled room behind. The room was still blurry and a tall pale man stood bent over him.

"Ca…n…can't… see." America croaked, his voice hoarse. "Wha-…?"

He pulled away and reached to the side, picking up something delicate and placing them on his face. Blinking, the room went in and out of focus, the lenses working to correct his blurry vision.

"You are in the final stages of hypothermia." The man, who America finally recognized as Russia, stated. "I have to get these wet clothes off of you."

America made a face at him and opened his mouth to speak when a groan came out instead.

"Shhh…" Russia grasped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up his chest and over his head, jerking his arms upward to peel it away. "You will not get warm with these still on."

"Mmmnn…" America made a noise, unable to form coherent speech, and raised his arms for a moment, feeling the cold, membrane like material sliding away, before letting his limbs fall into the bed. His eyes slowly fell shut, sleep welcoming him with open arms.

"_America_." Russia's voice again, only this time he physically shook America awake. "**Don't** fall asleep."

Russia's hand returned to his waist, where he unbuttoned his jeans, heavy and waterlogged still, and yanked them off. His boxers followed, and the soaking wet clothes were hung from hooks embedded in the door. America lay on the bed, feeling utterly numb and drunk, his brain not working properly. Russia covered America with a blanket and stood. Raising his hands, he unbuttoned his military coat, and pants, and pulled off his navy-blue sleeveless shirt, laying them all across his bed.

Dressed only in boxers, he lifted the blanket and crawled in bed with America, wrapped his arms around him and pulling him flush against his body. He maneuvered for a moment until America laid half on-top of him.

"I…I'm so tired." America struggled to keep his eyes open. "But…but my legs…and hands are feeling…prickly."

"Good." Russia splayed his hands over America's back. "Your brother, and Tony, are looking for hot water. When you get warm enough, you must drink it."

America nodded, having a hard time caring about it and buried his face into Russia's chest, breathing in his scent that surrounded him and filled his senses.

"I…I've never been good with the cold." America sighed, tilting his head up to peer at Russia's face. "I'm…I like the heat more."

Russia let his hands roam over America's back side, gently stroking the frozen skin.

"And I love the cold."

"But…but I thought you hated it." America said into Russia's chest. "I thought…what happened… to sunflowers?" America squeezed his eyes shut and tried forming a coherent sentence. "I-…ah…"

"Do not force yourself, America. And to answer your question…I do." Russia tilted his head down, his eye lashes brushing his cheeks as he peered at America. "But…I cannot…_deal_ with it. Not like you…I…I like the cold. In that respect."

America only sighed, smothering his face on Russia's chest, pressing his lips and nose into the hard muscle. Russia tilted his head down and grazed his lips across America's forehead.

"I…" America hesitated and tried putting together a sentence in his mind that made sense. "I shouldn't have…gone off. By myself."

"Yes, you shouldn't have." Russia agreed.

"But…I'm not apologizing." America's muscles tingled as warmth steadily pushed away the frigid numbness. "Because…I couldn't just let him get away."

Russia wrapped his arms around America and stared at the bottom of the top bunk.

"I know."

* * *

America stared at his reflection. A tan, albeit flushed face stared back. Sweat glistened on his hairline despite the temperature inside the train averaging just below freezing. Water trickled from the faucet at the sink, the metal bowl slowly filling up. It was early in the morning, _probably 4 or 5 am…_, the sun had yet to rise. After spending hours tossing and turning in his bed, America finally dragged himself from sweat-ridden sheets and drug himself to the bathroom, despite the exhaustion weighing on his shoulders. Setting a cloth and soap by the faucet, America decided to give himself a sponge bath, hoping it might give him a momentary respite from the raging heat he felt from the wildfire's back home.

Two days had passed since the incident on the train. Everyone was still nervous, but luckily there were no deaths from the poisoning.

He twisted the valve shut, and the water slowed to a dripping trickle. Dipping his hands into the water, America leaned in close to the sink and lifted it to his face. The water instantly absorbed the heat from his skin, where it dripped down his chin and neck, slowly turning lukewarm, then hot. America repeated the process, sucking in a gasp at the contact before sighing at the relief.

Standing, he went to pull his shirt off when the door to the lavatory door suddenly opened. America stepped away, annoyance glazing over his face.

"Look, the room's occupied- oh." America quieted at the sight of Russia. "I…didn't wake you up when I left, did I?"

Russia only stared at him, his eyelids at half-mast, his brain still half-asleep and unable to translate coherently. His hair stuck in every direction, his clothes, only a navy-blue sleeveless shirt and red boxer shorts, were wrinkled and rumpled.

"…Right. Forgot. No English when you wake up." America cracked a smile and shut the door behind him. "If you need to use the toilet-"*

"Нет." Russia mumbled while shutting and locking the door, and leaned against the wall.

America stared at him in the mirror. "…Well if you need the sink, you'll have to wait."

Russia hummed and let his eyes roam appreciatively over America's backside. America stared at him through the mirror for a moment, and returned to his previous task, rolling his eyes all the while.

_Sponge bath. Right._

Peeling his shirt off, America hung it off the tiny hooks embedded into the wall and submerged the cloth, letting it soak up the frigid water in the sink bowl. Squeezing the excess water, America pressed it to his chest and smeared the cloth over his collar bone and across either shoulder. Sighing in relief and pleasure, America dipped the cloth into the sink, squeezed, and moved down his abdomen and hips, which he couldn't help but his hips seemed a tad _pudgier_ than what they looked like a few months ago. America stilled, his eyes widening as he forgot about Russia standing directly behind him.

…_I cannot be gaining weight._ He pinched at his skin that covered his hip through the cloth, feeling the skin bunching up between his fingers to be far _more_ than how they were last time he checked. _What the __**fuck**__. Seriously? I'm hardly eating anything and I'm __**still**__ gaining weight?_

America glared at himself in the mirror. _How in the hell could Mattie eat stacks of those awesome pancakes he used to make and not gain a single pound, yet I eat them and-_

His mental tirade was cut short when Russia's hands suddenly encircled his waist. America jumped, squeaking in a _very undignified way_, and tried turning to face the elder nation.

Russia was having none of that, as he pressed himself flush against America's back, burying his nose into America's neck.

"What are you _doing_?" America growled at him, his face slowly turning red as he threw the wet cloth into the sink water. "Can't you see I'm-"

Russia smirked at him through the mirror from over America's shoulder.

"…lapochka."*

America glared at him. "What did you say?"

Russia hummed and spread his fingers over America's hips and abdomen.

America gripped either side of the sink. "Don't do that."

Russia rubbed his fingers into the skin of his hips and lower belly. "…Ti krasiviy."*

_You are beautiful._

America stilled, remembering the endearment from _past situations_. His face already flushed from the heat of the wildfires back home, it turned deep scarlet. Russia breathed across his neck, rubbing circles into his hips.

"_Stop-_" America whined, wriggling in his bear-like grip. "I'm dirty and _ugly_ and I'm **trying** to cool off."

Russia turned his face into America's neck and nipped at the delicate skin just underneath his jawline.

"Solnishko moyo…" Russia pressed his lips to America's neck, nuzzling him affectionately. "…Ti tak zhe prekrasen seychas, kak ran'she."*

_My little sun… You are as lovely now as you were before._

America sighed, recognizing just enough of the Russian to feel himself melt inwardly at the words.

Russia peppered kisses from his shoulder to his earlobe, which he licked and sucked into his mouth, rolling the globe of flesh over his tongue before licking a steady line up the shell of his ear. Kissing his way down, Russia returned to his neck, lavishing attention onto the heated skin. America shivered at the contact and kept his hands firmly planted on either side of the metal sink bowl. Russia nuzzled his neck, and kissed up and over his jawline. America turned to the side and their lips met, pressing together and relishing the texture and the odd electric mixture of fevered heat and icy cool.

Russia's hand suddenly slid away from his right hip, moving down and deeper until it groped his half-hard arousal through his stars and stripes boxers.

America moaned into the kiss, his spine stiffening at the sudden contact. Russia thrust his tongue through America's parted lips, effectively smothering the moan. His hand groped America's arousal, rubbing and squeezing and teasing it to life. His back arching, America rolled his hips forward, wanting more of the touching, the kissing, the electric sensations shooting straight to his groin. Gasping, America pulled away and bit his bottom lip. Tearing his hands from the sink, he gripped Russia's forearms and twisted around to face him.

"So…" America breathed, encircling his arms around Russia's neck. "You just came in here to molest me?"

Russia smoldered at him, his violet eyes burning holes into his head. "…I watched you writhe on your mattress all night."

"Mmm…" Heat curled in America's belly as a wicked smirk split his face. "My _writhing_ did **this** to you?" America ground himself into Russia with a heated gasp.

Russia stiffened, his eyes falling shut as he breathed a quivering sigh. His hands fell away from America's hips and gripped his rear, squeezing it playfully before pulling him flush against him, their arousals brushing and rubbing against each other.

"Ahhh~…" America sighed, trying desperately to keep his voice down. "S' been too long…"

Russia hummed in agreement and lifted America off the floor with his hands still planted on his rear. America curled his legs around Russia's waist and mashed their lips together in another searing kiss. Rolling his hips forward, America ground himself against Russia, their hard arousals moving and rubbing against each other. Heated sighs and quivering gasps escaped their joined lips. His strength weakening at the rising pleasure, Russia pressed America to the wall and upon freeing a hand from his rear, snaked it between them.

America hooked his ankles at Russia's back and tightened his hold on him. Fingers slid past the elastic band at his waist and curled around _him_, freeing him from the confines of his boxers. Something equally hot pressed to him, and Russia squeezed them both together in his hand. America broke the lip-lock with a gasp, his head falling back as the hand squeezed and drug itself from base to tip, rubbing the weeping heads together before returning to repeat the process.

"Mmm~" America moaned softly, his breath ragged. "Iv-"

Russia silenced him with another kiss.

"Shhh~" Russia pulled away from the kiss and pressed their foreheads together. "As much as I would love to hear you moan my name…we mustn't _wake the entire car up_." Russia mercilessly tightened his grip on _them_, squeezing his fingers around their touching, weeping heads.

America stiffened and arched his back, his orgasm coming as a surprise as he moaned breathlessly. Russia pulled his hand away, America's essence coating his palm.

"No…fair." America gasped, unlinking his ankles and sliding away so he could stand on his own. "You didn't…"

Russia pressed his lips to America's in a chaste kiss before raising his palm to his lips to lick and clean his palm. America watched him and shuddered, a quiet moan escape his swollen lips. Acting on a sudden surge of boldness, America gripped Russia's shirt and reversed their positions, pushing him to the wall and kneeling before him.

"Let me take care of this."

* * *

Four Days Later/Mid-November

America shouldered his bag and took one last look at the town they spent the night in after stepping off the train. The cold air was crisp and a fresh blanket of snow covered the ground. America huddled in his jacket and several other layers of clothing. Tony stood beside him and did the same.

"Ivan's taking care of some last minute business." Canada walked up to him and re-adjusted his backpack. "We'll be leaving shortly."

"He tell you where we're headed?"

"Be-…ah…Natalia's house."

"Belarus…"America stared at him. "We'll finally be in Europe."

Canada raised an eyebrow. "Well…technically we're _already_ in Europe, because Russia is considered to be a part of both-"*

America waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, _technically_…whatever."

"Alfred…" Canada sighed and rolled his eyes at his twin. "You are so infuriating."

America slung an arm around his brother's shoulders and pulled him close. "…but you'll always love, me right?"

Canada glared at him. "Don't push it."

Chuckling, America pulled away and rubbed his hands together to generate heat. "So…when we get to Natalia's house… maybe _Kat_ will be there?"

Canada turned his gaze to the sky, the muscles of his throat working.

"…I hope so."

* * *

Mid-December

"You're sure this is a good idea?"

Russia leveled a firm stare at America.

"We are being followed. If we arrive at Natasha's home all together, they will find out where her home is."

Canada nodded in agreement. "I don't think we have a choice, Alfred." He leveled a "_you know better"_ look at his brother. "We have to split up."

America glanced at the two of them and gave in with a sigh.

"Okay. Then we'll follow the routes you showed us, Ivan?"

Russia nodded and stood from the make-shift map he'd scratched into the dirt. The others follow suit, checking their bags, supplies and ammo clips.

"I need a box of revolver ammo, Mattie. I only got five rounds left."

Canada slid his backpack to his chest for a moment, unzipping the middle compartment and digging around until he pulled his hand away, revealing a half-empty box of ammo.

"Go easy on it, we only have one more left." Canada warned.

America reloaded his magnum and put the box in his own pack that hung from his shoulders.

"Make every shot count, got it."

Russia stepped closer to them, his left hand clenching a rifle. "I take the northern route, Canada, you take the direct route across the roads, and America-"

"Southern route." America holstered his magnum at his waist and picked up his ax. "We'll meet in a couple days?"

Russia nodded, his lips parted, but quickly snapped shut. "A couple days then." He glanced to Canada, Tony, then to America, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned and headed north.

Canada watched him leave and turned back to his twin. "Alfred, promise me you won't do anything stupid."

America rolled his eyes at him.

"I _know_ you, Al. If you run into the invaders or something happens…promise me you won't do anything _heroic_ or stupid or-"

America stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his brother's shoulders. Canada stood still for a moment before returning the hug, encircling his arms up and around his back. He sighed and buried his face into America's shoulder. America squeezed him, tightening his hold on his twin.

"Just… please, Al. I won't be there to drag your ass out of trouble."

America laughed and pulled away. "Oh come on-"

"Are you forgetting about me, ya fucker?" Tony glared at Canada. "I'll keep the idiot in line."

"Hey!" America glared at Tony. "I think I can take care of myself for a couple days."

Canada chuckled, shaking his head all the while. "Thank you, Tony. I think I'll sleep better knowing you're with him."

"Thanks _mom_."

Canada punched America's shoulder with a smirk, who punched him back in retaliation. The two stood silent for a moment, sizing each other up before America broke the silence.

"I'll be careful. I promise." America reached over and gripped his shoulder. "But that means you have to promise too."

Canada smiled. "I won't do anything you'd do."

"Mattie!" America frowned. "Come on, I'm being serious."

Canada reached up to grip America's hand on his shoulder. "You know me, Al. I'll be careful."

America hesitated, thinking it over for a moment before letting his hand fall to his side.

"Yeah…okay."

* * *

Two Days Later

Russia crouched and parted the bushes with his rifle. A clearing opened up, revealing a simple single-story house with a basement. A large shed stood connected to the home, a thick chain and padlock keeping the doors shut tight. Standing, Russia took a cautionary look about the clearing before crossing the threshold onto his sister's property. Luckily, his younger sister disliked staying in the crowded cities, preferring the quiet solitude in the country; because of this she escaped the _flash_ relatively unharmed, save for the damage suffered from the attacks.

With daylight having long passed, only the full moon lit up the sky, its creamy light spilling across the area like spilled milk.

Spying a car sitting in the half dirt, half gravel driveway, Russia stepped up to the front door and rapt his knuckles against the door a few times. Silence passed, wind whispered through the trees and tall grasses, and halting footsteps sounded beyond the door. Whispered voices came, and after a moment, a voice filled with warning pierced the silence.

"Who's there?"

"It is Ivan Braginski. Open the door."

More voices, and the door cracked open, a gun barrel sticking out. A face appeared in the crack, and Russia tilted his head so the moonlight could shine across his face.

Brown eyes widened, the gun was pulled away and the door opened.

Lithuania stood in the doorway, a hunting rifle clutched in his hands. His clothing looked old and stitched together, which was what everyone wore now. Behind him stood Ukraine, who dropped a pitchfork, shoved Lithuania aside and flung herself to Russia, throwing her arms around him.

"Vanya!" Ukraine squeezed him for a moment before leaned away to look at her younger brother. "You're alright!"

"Yekaterina…" Russia's tiny smile curled downward. "Why wouldn't I be alright?"

"A lot has happened since you left." Lithuania exclaimed from his position in the doorway. "You should come in. The light will attract _them_."

Russia glanced down to his sister, who nodded in agreement. Frowning, Russia looked from Ukraine to Lithuania, his eyes slowly narrowing in suspicion.

"Where is Natasha?"

* * *

"She is in here."

Ukraine led her brother down the hallway, pausing before her door.

"There was a surprise attack… and her leg…" Ukraine threaded her fingers together nervously. "She is healing…but very slowly."

Russia swallowed and gripped the handle, twisted and opened the door. He stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind him. The room was simple, the bed not very large, but not small, sat in the center of the room. The windows were shut and the curtains pulled, candles flickered and filled the room with soft light. Belarus lay in bed with thick, bloodied bandages covering her left leg, from mid-thigh, over her knee, to mid-calf. A metal cane leaned against the end-table beside the bed.

A moment passed, and Belarus finally picked herself so she reclined against a mountain of pillows. An older dark blue dress covered her thin frame, her hair was brushed and well kept, laying in a curtain across the back of her neck.

"Vanya...ti zdes'."

_Vanya...you're here._

Russia stared at the bloodied and bandaged leg. Belarus met his gaze and tried to fill in the silence.

"Ti zdorov?"

_Are you in good health?_

Russia swallowed and narrowed his eyes at her.

"Natasha... Kto eto sdelal?"

_Natasha...Who did this?_

She sat in silence, her eyes falling to the bed. Russia stepped closer to the bed, his demeanor slowly growing more intense by the second.

"Chto sluchilos'?"

_What happened?_

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

"Natasha…" Russia insisted, standing at the foot of her bed. "Skazhi mne, chto sluchilos'."

_Tell me what happened._

Belarus sighed and turned to the side, slowly, carefully sliding off the bed. Grasping the cane in her left hand, she stood, using the cane for support.

"So mnoy vsyo v poryadke." Belarus stated with finality in her voice. "Ne bespokoisya obo mne."

_I am fine. Don't worry about me._

Russia watched his younger sister limp to her door for a moment before he cross the distance between them and opening the door for her. Worry and suspicion flooded his violet-eyed gaze.

"Pozhaluista, bud' ostorozhney, Natasha."

_Please be more careful, Natasha.

* * *

_

Lithuania helped Belarus sit on a white cotton sofa. Before the sofa stood a low-lying table, a large map of Europe stretched across its surface. To the right of the sofa sat another off-white love seat.

"So…Ivan." Lithuania started, his eyes nervous. "Did you find…?"

"I did." Russia confirmed. "America and Canada are alive, and I brought them with me."

"Alive…they're _alive_." Lithuania smiled momentarily, before confusion filtered into his gaze. "Where are they?"

Ukraine took a seat beside her sister, and Russia sat in the loveseat and leaned forward.

"We're been followed since we arrived in Siberia."

"Followed…?" Worry filled Ukraine's gaze. "By…by _them_?"

Russia nodded. "We took the Trans-Siberian railway across and discovered an agent-"

Three knocks sounded at the door. Russia stood up, motioning for the others to remain seated, picked up his rifle and exited the room and entered the main hall, stepping close to the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Canada."

Russia cracked the door open to check, and sure enough Canada stood on the porch, the moonlight creating a halo around him. Lowering his rifle and stepping to the side, Russia let Canada in.

"Did you run into anything?" Russia asked, curious.

"No. Didn't see anything. Although I heard some gun shots to the south…" Canada frowned. "I just hope Alfred is-"

"Matthew!"

Canada looked up, and there in the main hall stood Ukraine, an impossibly huge smile on her face. Canada opened his mouth, but Ukraine didn't give him the chance to speak, as she crossed the room in three strides, flung her arms around his neck and kissed him on either cheek before locking lips. Russia left quickly, hoping to give them some privacy.

"I knew you weren't dead…I knew you were okay." Ukraine said after breaking the kiss for some much needed air. "The other's kept telling me to accept it but…but I just couldn't."

Canada smiled, wrapped his arms around her and pressed their foreheads together, relishing the physical contact.

"It's going to take more than an alien invasion to get rid of me." Canada stated with a grin. "I'm glad you're okay. I was worried about you."

Ukraine kissed him once more, and rested her head on his shoulder. "It's been hard, but I am alright."

Canada nodded and buried his nose into her shoulder, breathing in deeply. Wanting to remember how she felt and smelled and looked like and burn it into his memory. Ukraine smiled and gently pulled away, grasping his hand into her own.

"Come, let's join the others."

Canada looked torn, wishing to remain in the hall to hug and kiss her to death, but swallowed his heated feelings with a nod.

"R-right."

* * *

"After you left, things steadily got worse."

Lithuania leaned forward and motioned to the map. Canada sat on the loveseat with Russia, and the others sat on the sofa.

"The invaders started entering the Mediterranean from Africa, and coming up through the Arabian Peninsula, crossing the black sea into Europe…" Lithuania pointed to the locations on the map. "The rate of attacks have quadrupled in the past year…and at the rate we're going through munitions… we'll be having catastrophic ammunition shortages across Europe."

Russia frowned and stared at the map.

"Have you spoken to the others?"

Lithuania nodded. "I just returned earlier this morning from a secret meeting that Ludwig set up. All the nations in Europe were to attend, so we could discuss all of these…these _issues_ so we might come up with possible solutions. You had to come, unless you were injured or otherwise unable to attend, and you didn't have to stay for the entire week. I left after a day, as I…I didn't want to leave Natasha or Katyusha alone for too long."

"And I _told_ you that we are fine." Belarus ground out. "You should have stayed longer."

"What did they come up with?"

"Well… they proposed keeping the ammunition factories up north in the colder areas, as the invaders were less likely to discover them there. We also tackled the issues of food shortages and getting more railways up and running."

"Is there a plan for pushing back the invaders?"

"That was the last topic we talked about." Lithuania rested his elbows on his knees. "Dozens of suggestions were given, but…we weren't able to come to any agreement. The problem is that we have no intelligence on them at all. We only know a handful of locations where they have bases up and running… we don't know anything about their technology, and whether it has any weaknesses. And then there's the language barrier… we can't decipher any written language from them, and trying to make sense of their guttural speech is…just…"

Lithuania sighed and shook his head. Russia stared at the map and after a moment, slowly leaned back into the cushions.

"In my travels…Alfred, Matthew and I have discovered some…things."

The others stared at him. Canada swallowed and met their gazes.

"We know for a fact that the alien's know about _us_."

Ukraine gasped, Lithuania and Belarus simply held looks of surprise.

"Do they know what we look like?"

"I don't know." Canada frowned. "But…they definitely know about Alfred, Ivan and I. We've been followed since we arrived in Siberia… that's why we're arriving separately."

"What else…" Lithuania asked, his voice nervous. "Have you discovered?"

"The aliens have the ability," Russia started, his voice low. "To… take over a dead body, halt the…decaying processes after death, and control it, as if it were an extension of themselves."

The others stared at him in horror. Lithuania was the first to speak.

"This…the others must know about this. They… we could have been infiltrated at any time, the meeting…"

"Send the information along, but make sure it's with someone you trust."

Lithuania nodded and left the room.

"This is horrible…" Ukraine's eyebrows knit together in worry. "When did you find this out?"

"Alexei told us." Russia admitted softly. "He had his suspicions after seeing people acting strangely…"

"Alexei…" Belarus glanced to her older brother. "How is he?"

"He is doing well."

Belarus nodded, a tiny smile gracing her face. "As I suspected. He is strong."

Canada glanced at Belarus, then to Ukraine, who only nodded and mouthed _I'll tell you later_.

Lithuania returned with a folded paper in his hand.

"I'm going to the telegraph office to send this out. I'll be back in a couple hours."

* * *

Canada stood at a window that faced the front of the house. His arms were crossed over his chest and his face twisted in worry. Ukraine came up beside him and wrapped her arms around him.

"Al should've been here _hours_ ago." Canada frowned, but returned the hug. "I hope he's alright."

"I'm sure Alfred will be here soon." Ukraine squeezed him comfortingly and gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry."

"…I hope so."

* * *

**Next Chapter: **The focus shifts to America, who gets ambushed by an alien patrol and discovers some startling intelligence & The group decides to head for Germany immediately to find out _what happened_, and the focus shifts to England and France as they attempt a daring prison escape.

Extra Notes (Once again, special thanks to silvensorrow for all the Russian translations!)

**1. Hypothermia** - [From wiki] "Hypothermia from exposure to cold water is not as sudden as is often believed. A person who survives the initial minute of trauma (after falling into icy water), will typically survive for more than an hour provided they don't drown. However, the ability to perform useful work (to save oneself) declines substantially after 10 minutes (as the body protectively cuts off blood flow to "non-essential" muscles)." Severe/Final Stages of Hypothermia can have the following symptoms: "…Difficulty speaking, sluggish thinking, and amnesia start to appear; inability to use hands and stumbling is also usually present. Cellular metabolic processes shut down. Below 30 °C (86 °F), the exposed skin becomes blue and puffy, muscle coordination becomes very poor, walking becomes almost impossible, and the victim exhibits incoherent/irrational behavior including terminal burrowing or even a stupor. Pulse and respiration rates decrease significantly, but fast heart rates (ventricular tachycardia, atrial fibrillation) can occur. Major organs fail. Clinical death occurs. Because of decreased cellular activity in stage 3 hypothermia, the body will actually take longer to undergo brain death. As the temperature decreases further physiological systems falter and heart rate, respiratory rate, and blood pressure all decreases. This results in an expected HR in the 30s with a temperature of 28 °C (82 °F)."

2. "…**Right. Forgot. No English when you wake up."** - This is more of my head canon :) When I first visited Japan for my university program, I lived with a roommate and found that when I woke up, I had a really hard time speaking Japanese. I could understand it just fine, it was just translating my response from English to Japanese in my head so early in the morning was just impossible. So I imagined Russia might be the same way :)

3. "…**lapochka."** - Translation/Notes from silvensorrow: "i don't know how to literally translate it, it means something like "cutie" in a very... cuddly way? this is not used very often, but some couples use it + it's cute ^^"

4. "**Well…technically we're **_**already**_** in Europe, because Russia is considered to be a part of both-"** - [From Wiki] "…Azerbaijan, Georgia, Kazakhstan, Russia and Turkey are considered part of both Europe and Asia. Armenia and Cyprus are entirely in Western Asia, but are sociopolitically European countries."


	11. Chapter 11

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others**  
Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language & violence.**  
Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

**Note:** Sorry for the delay…again. My only excuse is I got a new dog/dalmatian from the local animal shelter that was abused by her previous owners. She's been a handful and has been taking up most of my free time.

* * *

America pulled his compass from his left jean pocket and took a reading.

"So…if we're here…" America scratched a mark on the paper he'd copied Russia's map onto. "Then…we need to head…that way." America oriented himself on the map and geographical surroundings. Open fields, with a few spattering of trees and abandoned buildings remained ahead.

Tony peered into the night sky, his darkened red eyes studying the stars. America turned to him and followed his gaze skyward. The stars glittered and shined brilliantly, slowly growing in number and brightness to form a narrow band that stretched across the sky. Normally the large number of satellites was clearly visible, the dots of light moving at a steady pace in an arc across the horizon.

"…The satellites are gone." America frowned and rubbed at the ache in his chest. "They…destroyed them all."

"They did." Tony confirmed, his voice quiet. "But that only makes it easier to see their ships."

"Their ships?" America glanced to him, then turned back to the sky, squinting. "You can see them?"

"The lights on their ships are of varying wavelengths that differ from the starlight. Atmospheric turbulence doesn't affect them as it does starlight. Their power sources, or engines, give off radiation."

America stared at him.

"…You can see all of that?"

"Yes." Tony nodded confidently. "Your puny human eyesight has only limited range."

"Don't start with the puny jokes." America frowned at him, but returned his gaze skyward. "So…they have ships in orbit. Can you tell how many?"

_…__**Fuck**__. Even if we defeat the forces on the ground…we'll still have the ships in orbit to deal with. And our technology… it's not advanced enough yet to deal with something like this…not on a military scale…_

"My accuracy will only be within 40.478%-"

"_Estimate_, Tony."

"…I hate estimating." Tony sighed and folded his arms across his chest. "Somewhere between 15 to 25."

"…_Ships_?"

Tony nodded. "That includes any smaller ships, holding supplies or military purposes."

America nodded and turned his eyes back to Earth.

"…Right."

_…I hate this.

* * *

_

The night passed on, the moon finally rising above the eastern horizon. Its creamy light spilled across the landscape, filtering through the fields of tall grass and branches of the trees, barren from the frigid winter season. America huddled in his jacket and shivered, rubbing his hands together to generate warmth. The snow that covered the ground was thin, the last storm having passed through a few weeks ago.

His military boots crunched through the snow as he walked down a small two lane road leading through overgrown farmland on either side. Tree's gathered together up ahead, all flowing in a line that cut through the overgrown grasses. After a moment, an older bridge came into view, a small, but deep stream cutting underneath it.

"Wait." Tony put a hand over America's belly, stopping him in his tracks. "I hear something."

America paused and used his peripheral vision to look for any movement.

"Behind." Tony pulled his hand away. "In the fields."

"Keep walking." America whispered, and to cover their realization, plastered a smile on his face and laughed. "Don't be so suspicious!"

They started forward once more, America unzipped his jacket to allow more movement and better access to the two magnum revolver's resting at his waist in the old fashioned holster.* The bridge slowly inched closer, and America's stomach gradually twisted into knots. Heat pooled at the back of his head and neck, his nerves hyper aware as he strained his hearing for any movement.

A mechanical click was all he heard before he shoved Tony away and flung himself to the dirt, rolling over the ground and down the steep rocky incline that led to the stream. Gunshots cut through the peaceful silence; bullets hit the stone bridge with an audible _crack_ and whistled through the air, _thunking_ into trees or burying themselves into the ground.

America yanked a revolver from his right holster and crawled to the small space under the bridge. His boots and calves sunk into the slow moving stream and filled with water. Tony lay beside him, reloading his rifle with practice speed.

"How many?"

Tony pulled a compact mirror from his pack and held it out.

"Two on my side." He angled the mirror. "Three on yours."

America twisted to his side, pulling his feet from the water and sitting up to a crouch. Pulling out his other revolver, America waiting for a pause in the shots before leaning out to fire a burst of three shots before pulling back under the stone bridge. The shots from the trees increased in intensity.

"They don't have tracers so I have no idea where the hell their shooting from!" America yelled over his shoulder, and fired three more times before switching the empty gun with the fully loaded one. Yanking the half-empty box of ammo his twin gave him, America popped the cylinder from the frame and loaded six bullets into each chamber before snapping the cylinder back into place. "I can't see worth shit."

Tony shot a quick burst of two rounds, and a hissing screech sounded from the trees. There was movement in the trees, and tony fired once more. Something large collapsed to the ground.

"This way." Tony slapped America's side, tugging his sleeve.

America turned to him, and Tony motioned with two fingers down the steep, rocky banks of the stream before jerking them up to the trees. America nodded, understanding the silent hand motions and glanced back to ensure they weren't followed. The way clear, he snapped the safety into place and lid one of the revolvers back to its rightful holster and using his free hand, picked up the ax that lay beside him. Tony chambered a few rounds and in a crouch, ran down the bank and up into the trees. A volley of fire opened up from the opposite side of the road. America waited, and Tony opened up with suppressive fire.* Taking the chance, America ran forward and sprinted up the hill into the trees, sliding behind a thick tree trunk. Gunshots ceasing, America let the ax head rest on the ground and leaned the wooden handle up against the tree.

Tony knelt on the ground, dragging a dead alien body within arm's reach his spot behind the tree. Digging through the thing's pockets, Tony pulled out three metal sphere's.

"What are those?" America asked in a whisper. "Are they…like grenades?"

Tony nodded, and carefully set all but one beside him. Standing, he held it in his palm and pressed his thumb and forefinger to the metal. Curling bands of green light appeared, growing brighter in intensity with each passing second. An audible click sounded, and Tony reared his arm back and flung the thing through the trees, across the road and into the other group of trees. A hissing squeal sounded before a deafening explosion ripped through the air. The resulting shockwave rippled across the land, hitting America solidly in his chest leaving him gasping. Dirt, rocks and pieces of tree rained down for a moment before Tony stood and peered out from behind the tree he hid behind.

"…Safe."

"What the _fuck_-" America gasped and clutched his chest. "That was not a _grenade_! Grenade's don't have shockwaves strong enough to knock the air from my chest!"

"The technology is centuries ahead of your own." Tony explained while picking up his rifle and walked to the resulting crater to inspect the area. "No survivors, as expected."

"You realize a normal human would've been seriously injured from that shockwave just now?" America sighed, and rubbed at his ears. "Fuck… my ears are still ringing." Picking up his ax, America stepped over to the two aliens dead from gunshot wounds.

A device at the things waist crackled to life, the guttural speech sounding through the damaged speaker.

"Communications…this was a patrol." America picked up the device and studied it for a moment. "If it's a patrol…then they must have some kind of base or outpost or something."

Tony returned to America's side and started going through the alien's gear, pulling more spherical _grenades_ and dropping them into a bag.

America held the device in the air and moved around, the signal gradually growing clearer and holding less static.

"…Don't even think about it." Tony snapped. "We'll mark the location on the map and return with the others."

"But by then they'll be gone!" America exclaimed, dropping his hand from its raised position. "We have to go _now_."

Tony glared at him.

"I'm going." America ignored him, holstered his other revolver and picked up the double headed ax. "You can say I forced you to keep Mattie from yelling at you."

A moment passed before Tony sighed.

"Fucking hell."

* * *

"What the _hell_ is that?"

America crouched in the grasses with Tony an arm's length away. In the middle of a clearing, in the center of a field was wheel-less, tread-less tank of sorts. Two long canons stuck out on either side, with gunports on both sides and the back. The front was curved with opaque glass. The rear of the thing opened up like the back hatch of a loading dock. Underneath the thing were three round circular openings that looked remarkably familiar to the rocket boosters used for space flight.

"A portable telecommunications unit, most likely connected wirelessly to the mainframe in orbit." Tony whispered, pointing to the armored antennas jutting out from the roof of the thing. "Heavy armor, gun ports and small cannon-like turrents. Designed for use against modern day human military forces."

"Portable… it has _rocket booster's_, Tony." America stared at the thing in horrified awe. "Are you telling me that thing can **fly**?"

"Positive with 75.634-"

"Yeah, okay." America interrupted. "Is there anyone in there?"

"Communications officers, maybe a couple of guards." Tony studied it for a moment. "If alerted, the officer inside would only take seconds to alert every invader in the immediate area of our location."

"Right…then we need stealth." America holstered his revolvers and picked up his ax. "We'll move around and meet at the back entrance."

Tony nodded and stepped away, his light form moving silently through the tall grasses. America stepped away in the opposite direction, walking carefully and as silently as possible in the heavy, wet military boots. The back of the thing in view, a single guard stood at the entrance.

_There must be more in there… If only I could draw him closer..._

America carefully set the ax down beside him and pulled out a smaller knife. Running his fingers over the ground, he felt for a thick, firm stalk of grass and snapped it between his fingers. The crunch sounded loudly in the silent air, drawing the attention of the guard. Another stepped out of the vehicle. The two conversed with each other in guttural, hissing tones before the first one broke off and stepped closer to where America was hiding.

_Come on… just a little closer…_

The other alien guard turned away, another sound distracting it to the opposite side of the clearing. The alien paused, hesitating a moment, turning back to glance at his partner before turning away and stepping into the tall, chest high wheat grasses.

_There._

Taking his chance, America jumped up, planted one hand over the alien's puckered mouth and sunk the blade into the things neck, twisted and tore it free, spraying an arc of green bodily fluids into the air. The alien collapsed, a thin membrane sliding over its eyes. America carefully set it on the ground, making sure to keep the noise to a minimum before pulling his hands away. Wiping the blade on the things armored chest, America pocketed the knife and picked up his ax.

Stepping quietly, gently, America rushed to the side of the vehicle and edged to the back. The hum of electrical equipment and the low guttural tones of someone filtered from inside. Peering around the side, he made eye contact with tony, who nodded to him. America set down the ax and pulled out his revolver, clicking the safety off and drawing back the hammer.

_…Now I'll get to see if all that time I spent practicing my quick draw will pay off…_*

America breathed once, twice, and flung himself around, raised the gun and fired a single round through the alien's head, which exploded, sending a spray of green blood and other fluids across the interior wall. The invader collapsed to the floor with a crash.

Gasping, America exhaled slowly, put the safety back on and holstered the weapon. Tony stepped in beside him, entering the vehicle, tore the headset from the remains of the alien's head and yanked it from the consol.

"Safe." Tony confirmed. "But after twenty-four hours of negative contact, others might come to inspect it."

"Right, of course." America stepped inside and glanced about. Fancy electronic equipment filled the interior of the vehicle. Lights of varying color littered the large equipment, buttons and strange keyboards imbedded into each device. Glassless displays floated above the center consol. "Hey…hey Tony…"

Tony kicked the dead alien away with his booted foot and took a seat in the tiny metal chair before the center consol. Orange light shone through a pinhole and displayed a strange keyboard on a flat opaque surface.* The _screen_ projected above the surface, floating in the air. America gaped slack jawed at the technology that was centuries ahead of their own.

"This…this is a computer?"

"…Yes." Hesitance filtered into Tony's voice. "Only far more advanced."

"Then…if that invader was logged onto their mainframe…_thing_…then that means we have complete access now…right?"

Tony hummed, his eyes narrowed. "Access….to a point. They have the same levels of security the nations of the world employed."

"Right, that's what I meant." America exclaimed in a rush. "What I'm saying is, right now, we have the chance to get some _major_ secret intelligence from this thing-"

"If you know their language." Tony interrupted. "But you don't."

America's excited face fell away and shattered into a million pieces.

"_But…_" tony sighed. "I can the use the cryptology practices from my planet to try and figure out their language. So stop the fucking moping."

America brightened instantly. "Thanks Tony."

"Whatever."

* * *

Four Hour's Later

America was sitting at the doorway to the vehicle when Tony called him back. Jumping to his feet, America rushed over to Tony's side.

"Well?"

Tony sighed and leaned back into the chair. "I know simple phrases and key words… but that's it. Their language is archaic compared to mine, so I started using your stupid language to compare it to and it seems to work out 3% better."

America peered at him, a single eyebrow rising into his hairline.

"…You know…it was _England_ who taught me _'my stupid language'_."

Tony grunted.

"Fucking limey."*

America smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Anyways…" He gripped the back of Tony's chair and leaned forward. "Did you find anything?"

Tony tapped a few buttons, the orange screen changed and morphed, flashing the map of the Earth. Red lines carved through the world, creating odd shapes that separated the continents and oceans. Suspicion rising, America peered at the map, narrowing his eyes in response.

"Aren't those…" America slowly knelt on the floor. "The tectonic plates?"

Tony nodded. America stared at the map, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Why would they have a map of the tectonic plates?"

"It's marked as… something like urgent. Or important." Tony glared at the screen. "Fucking translation bullshit."

America lifted his hand and touched the screen. It flashed suddenly, and zoomed in on South America.

"South America Plate…the countries are all labeled. Wait, what are those words underneath each nation name?" America grazed his fingers across the screen, touching Brazil. The screen flashed once more, and a picture of _the nation of Brazil_ appeared with several paragraphs of information below. She looked as she did during the last world cup. Dark skin and long hair pulled back, a brilliant smile.

"…they have her picture." America gaped at the screen. "This…this picture is from a _year_ before the flash."

Tony tapped a few buttons and returned to the screen showing South America. Quickly, America checked several other nations on the southern continent, finding every single one of them with pictures and orange lettering strewn across.

"What do these words say?" America pointed to the green lettering. "Tony?"

"Not…something." Tony growled a sigh. "Not… possess?"

"Captured? Is that what it means? Not captured?" America felt his heart hammering against his rib cage. "They fucking have a list of us, with our pictures and information and…and… they've known about us for more than a _year_."

Tony tapped a button and returned to the world screen. America jabbed his finger at the North America plate. The map zoomed in once, twice, and there on the screen was a picture of America from a year before the flash. His smile was large and white, his cheeks full and eyes shining brightly, his skin tan, hair a brilliant blond and _clean_.

"Go back." America ordered, and Tony immediately complied. He touched the large block of land that sat above him, and his twin's face appeared. Pictures of the other island nations in the Gulf were all present. Since Russia also partially rested on the North American plate, he checked him too, finding the same orange lettering as many of the others. America saved Cuba for last, tapped his finger against the island. Green lettering covered his smiling picture.

"What-…what does that mean?" America stared at the green text and felt dread in his gut. Sure, both him and Cuba hadn't seen eye to eye for the past 70 years or so, but that didn't mean America wished any harm on him. "Tony, what does that mean?"

"Opposite of not." Tony admitted, the reluctance clear in his voice. "Yes…Positive…and possess."

"They have him? They captured Cuba?" America dug his fingers into the console, the metal giving way under his fingers. "Why?"

It was more of a demand than a question.

Tony shook his head and returned to the world screen. America tapped Africa, and started going through each nation. It soon became apparent that the ones closest to the equator were captured, and the further away, the lesser the chances of the nation having the green letter across its picture.

"What the _fuck-_" America stood up and paced around the vehicle. "Why are they doing this? What the _fuck_ do they want from us?"

"From the attention they focused on you…perhaps they think you have direct control over your people. Your country?"

America bit his lip, a million thoughts rushing through his mind all at once. Returning to Tony's side, he hesitated a moment, and touched the Indo-Australian plate. Almost immediately, America touched Australia, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his picture void of green lettering. Many of the other nations were similar, having eluded the invaders. Upon returning to the world screen, America went through the remaining areas, finding India and Japan safe, as well as many of the middle-eastern nations safe as well. Finally, America left the Eurasian plate for last.

Swallowing the lump back down his throat, America tapped it, and focused the image on Eastern Asia. Many of the nations were fine, including China, Mongolia, Hong Kong, Thailand, the Koreas…all safe.

_I should've known they'd be okay. They're strong…and besides… I think China would rather die than see them in the hands of the aliens..._

America focused the image onto Eastern Europe. Poland, Ukraine, Belarus, the Baltics were all safe, but the further south he went, the more nations that seemed to be captured. America quickly tapped Austria, and instead of the tell-tale orange or green lettering, yellow lettering was splattered across his photo.

"What?" America turned to Tony. "What does that mean? Yellow?"

Tony hummed, his eyes narrowing. "I don't know."

"Speculate then."

"I hate speculating." Tony half-sighed, half growled in annoyance. "But… some of the lettering is similar to their word for _urgent_ or _soon_."

"So…they know where he's at?" America mused, his face drawn in alarm. "And they were planning on apprehending him? So that…they're _expecting_ to capture him?"

"…Perhaps." Tony shrugged. "But speculation has no ground in a sound argument."

"If they know about Austria…then what about Hungary?" America couldn't help but remember the close relationship the two held. Tony returned to the previous screen, and checked her nation, finding it free of the yellow or green text. "Then they know about him. If they know then we have to do something!"

"Wait." Tony warned, and starting tapping his fingers to the displayed keyboard at a rapid pace. "This is taking too long. I'm going to try and see if- ah. There." The nations of Western Europe were transferred to a listing format, their pictures and status included.

America stared.

"No. No, no, no this can't be happening." America slapped his hands on the console and leaned forward to gaze at the displayed list. "Belgium, Denmark… Northern Italy, Germany…France…_England_…"

Tony stared, surprise registering on his face for the first time since the flash.

"They know where they're at? Do they have them?" America shoved away from the screen and paced around the room. Chewing his bottom lip in nervousness and running his fingers through his hair. "Tony-"

"Calm the fuck down." Tony glared and violently tapped away, navigating through the different screens at breakneck speed. Seconds passed before Tony stopped. "Found something."

America crossed the room in less than three seconds. Paragraphs of information filled the screen.

"It's a mission report in connection to the nations in question."

Tony scrolled through the blocks of text before a map of Germany opened up.

"And…that's where they planned on apprehending them."

* * *

Canada paced by the front window with Ukraine looking on.

"Matthew, it's three in the morning, please at least _try_ to sleep."

He stopped at the window where Russia sat with a rifle in hand. It was Russia's turn for the second watch, but when he replaced him, Canada found himself too worried to sleep.

"Something's happened. I _know_ it." Canada bit his lip and returned to wearing a hole into the carpet. "That _idiot _**promised **me he wouldn't do anything rash."

Russia sat by the window, staring through the pane of glass and watching the moon make its descent across the sky. Ukraine crossed her arms over her stomach and watched Canada pace like a caged animal.

"Matthew, I'm sure Alfred is _fine_-"

Russia stood up suddenly and walked to the front door, rifle in hand. "Alfred is back."

Canada halted a moment, and then ran across the front sitting room and into the main hall. Russia beat him to the door, who unlocked all three dead bolts and chained locks before opening it. America and Tony stepped in, dark circles under their eyes.

"Where the hell _were_ you?" Canada demanded, his voice dripping in worry and anger. "You should've been here _hours_ ago!"

"You wouldn't believe what just happened to me!" America tore off his jacket, setting it haphazardly on the wooden coat rack. "I found out some crazy shit."

Lithuania appeared in the hall, his clothing rumpled from sleep, Belarus came up slowly behind him, cane in hand.

"Alfred, you're back." Lithuania swallowed a yawn and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "What happened?"

America turned to face Lithuania when a smile spread across his face. "Toris! Aw man… it's been so long!" America stepped forward, hugging the startled man suddenly before pulling away. "I have some big news-"

"Calm down." Canada grabbed his brother by the shoulder and pulled him away. "Let's go into the other room. We have a map."

* * *

"You're serious? You're _absolutely_ **sure** of this?"

Canada gaped at America and Tony. The two spent the last hour explaining everything that happened over the past several hours. Upon finding out about Tony and his knowledge of the alien written language, Lithuania immediately set him up with paper and pencil, so that he would record everything he knew about their language.

"If this is true…" Lithuania started after returning from setting Tony up Belarus's desk in her study. "Then…then someone must have been an agent or…infiltrator from the invaders and somehow _knew_ about the meeting Ludwig set up."

"How many nations in Europe did you say were…potentially captured?" Belarus asked suddenly, her voice serious.

"…Seven." America swallowed, leaned forward and picked up a charcoal pencil lying on the map spread across the table. "Austria, Belgium, Denmark…" He made a small mark on each of their respective areas. "France, Northern Italy, Germany… and England."

"Why are they capturing us?" Canada asked, his eyes staring at France and England, their _elder brothers_*, knowing he wouldn't get an answer. "What is the point?"

"I don't know, but nearly all the nations at the equator are captured, save for Brazil and Kenya. They already have quite a few of us…" America glared at the map. "We have to do something."

"I agree." Russia nodded with a tilt of his head.

"Do what?" Ukraine exclaimed. "By the time you get there it will be too late-"

"Not if I let them use my reserves." Belarus glared at the map.

"…You'd be willing to let us use your gasoline reserves?" America gaped. "But…don't you want to save that for your people?"

"I will open _my_ reserves to you, Natasha, if you allow us to use them." Russia offered suddenly. "But we do not have any vehicles."

"You may use whatever you may find on my property." Belarus stated with a dainty nod of her head. "And…thank you, Vanya."

Russia only nodded. Ukraine smiled at her siblings, happy to find them getting along and acting like a _family_.

Lithuania stood from his seat beside America. "Well…if you want to make it in time then I think you'd better go now."

"Here." Belarus pulled a set of keys from her pocket and placed them in his hand. "Open the shed for them."

America stood and along with Russia, followed Lithuania out of the room and through the back door, leaving the others behind. Lithuania crossed the yard to the large shed, using the keys to open the lock before sliding the doors open. Stacked inside were boxes and supplies of a varied nature, but nestled in between was a VW four door in moderate condition.

"Does it run?" America peered at the car and hoped the basics were in working condition. "With Natalia offering her gasoline, the only thing I'm worried about is the battery."

Russia hummed and motioned for Lithuania to pop the hood of the car. He did so after opening the driver's side door and took a seat, pumping the clutch a few times before holding it in and starting the engine. There was only a distinct click.

"_Fuck_." America swore and stepped over to the battery. Pulling his knife from the sheath at his waist, he popped the top of the battery off and found the watery liquid inside to be frozen solid.

Russia stood beside him and peered down at it. "Disconnect it and bring it inside to warm it up. Should work then."

"Right…" America rolled his eyes and started disconnecting the battery with practiced ease. "How are the tires?"

Lithuania got out of the car and shut the door. "One looks a little low but it's still drive-able."

"Okay. I'll take this inside and bring the stuff out to start packing the car."

* * *

America reconnected the now warm battery to the car and motioned to Russia, who sat in the driver's seat. Russia pushed in the clutch and started the ignition. The car rumbled and caught, the engine struggled to turn over for a few moments before turning over with a roar. America grinned victoriously and watched over the engine for a moment before shutting the car hood. Lithuania set the remaining gasoline jugs in the back of the car and Canada covered them with their extra supplies they gathered during their long trek across Canada, Alaska and Russia.

Shutting the car trunk, Tony made his way to Lithuania and pressed a thick pad of paper in his hands. Strange lettering with English descriptions covered page after page.

"It's everything I was able to figure out, but it's all in English."

"That's fine, I can translate it when I send it out to the others. Thank you." Lithuania smiled at him. "This will come in handy, and hopefully it will let us start gathering intelligence."

Tony nodded and opened the right side passenger car door, taking his seat. Lithuania stepped away from the car to stand beside America, while Russia conversed with his younger sister. Canada stood with Ukraine, their arms wrapped around each other and whispering goodbyes.

"I knew you'd be okay." America grinned. "I just had a feeling."

"I wish I could say the same for you." Lithuania smiled, his grin bittersweet. "After hearing the word from Ivan…I thought for sure you were…gone."

"Hey…Toris." America stepped closer, his face drawing into a curious scowl. "Did everyone really think Mattie and I were dead?"

Lithuania hesitated a moment before nodding. "Yes…well…save for Ukraine and England…but…I think deep down, they doubted the chances of you two living through something like that."

America's confused scowl turned annoyed. "But England survived and he was in _London_ when it happened. I-"

"I didn't mean it like that," Lithuania quickly amended. "It's just… it's only you and Matthew over there. Sure you have the central American and South American countries but…" Lithuania sighed and shook his head. "They wanted to _hope_ you were alive, when they knew that… it might be better to accept your…_deaths_."

America peered at Lithuania. "What…makes you say that?"

"During the meeting…the one I was telling you about earlier… Ludwig brought your names up and asked Iceland if he'd heard anything from your continent." Lithuania lowered his voice and turned in closer to America. "The question turned into a discussion, the discussion turned into a debate until Prussia told everyone that it would be better to accept that you two were dead and…well…"

"…Well?" America asked, eyebrows rising in vivid curiosity.

"Well…England lost his cool and France had to forcibly remove him from the room."

America's eyebrows raised into his hairline. "Really?"

Lithuania nodded. "They were pretty upset after that…England especially. France…well…I guess he's just better at controlling his temper…"

"Yeah…" America nodded and smiled. "Thanks, Toris. I appreciate you telling me this… it's just… I hope everyone's okay."

Lithuania peered at America.

"Me too."

* * *

Somewhere in Eastern Germany

England sat in the corner of a scarcely lit concrete room. The walls showed signs of aging, massive cracks splitting up the walls and splaying outward. Dark depressions lay in the center of the room from water pooling during rain and melting snow. The door to the room was heavy and made of steel.

Swallowing a sigh, he let his head fall back against the concrete wall. His clothing was old and frayed, much like everything else people wore, dark brown pants, a button up long-sleeved shirt that had once been white, his feet completely bare… but the clothing hadn't been washed in a few days, and the cold dampness of the room clung to them. Thick metal cuffs kept his wrists tied firmly at the small of his back, the heavy metal cuffs also kept his ankles shackled together.

Footsteps sounded in the outside hall; England straightened and let the angry glare he'd relaxed into a scowl slide back into place. The lock clicked and the door swung open. France tumbled into the room, falling to his knees before collapsing to the floor. His face was bloodied and bruised, the skin surrounding his eyes already turning purple. The hissing, guttural speech of the aliens screeched at him and then slammed the door shut, the lock clicking back into place. More footsteps echoed and faded.

"Did you get it?" England asked, his eyes staring at the damage done to the others face.

France smirked and shifted to his knees, gently lifting himself back up. Slowly, his mouth opened, his tongue unfurled and a gleaming paperclip appeared.

England surged forward and turned around, opening his hands palm up. "Give it to me!" He whispered. "Hurry!"

France sighed and shifted closer before spitting the paperclip into his hands. "Are you sure you can pick locks with something like this…?"

"Are you doubting my skill?" England glared at him. "_Me_?"

England took the clip and bent the thin metal strand into a straight line before carefully jamming it into the lock. It took only three seconds for the locks to click open. Shaking the cuffs away, he freed his feet, and then worked on France.

"Ah…I should have known better. I thought you might have grown slow in your skills." France stated with a pained smirk. "But really, you didn't even ask about my well-being."

England twisted the paperclip once, twice, and the cuffs around France's hands snapped open. "You've survived worse," England deadpanned. Gently setting the metallic links to the floor, so as to make as little noise as possible, England made quick work of the cuffs at his ankles and stood to face him.

"…But…" England glared at him, a blush rising on his cheeks. "Are you well enough to fight?"

"Of course." France smiled, his eyes lingering on the pink tinge of the others face. "It is moments like these when I feel most _alive_."

"Good." England turned away and worked on the door, jamming the clip into the keyhole and working the inner-mechanisms of the lock. "Lucky this door is old…otherwise the springs inside the lock would've been too strong to budge." England whispered softly.

The heavy metal lock clocked open. England yanked the paper clip from the lock and swung the door aside. Lunging forward, he grabbed the alien standing guard at the door by the tentacles at its neck, yanked it back into their cell and stabbed the thin metal wire into its throat before snapping its neck. The other alien turned and reached for its gun, but France didn't give it the chance as he slammed his elbow into the thing's neck, grabbed its face and smashed it into the wall, its skull cracked open and the invader dropped to the floor.

France gasped, a wide smirk stretching across his face as he inhaled and exhaled deeply. England rifled through the alien's gear, picking up its gun, keys and electronic card. Upon straightening, England found France clutching the other invader's gun and belongings, his face dripping with contentment.

"Was that as satisfying for you as it was for me?"

England blushed and scoffed at him. "Just don't revert to your revolutionary self. I'd rather have you firmly in control of your…_urges_…right now." England brushed past him and with a quick look up and down the empty hall, started jogging quickly, silently to the left. France followed after him, the two rushing down the hall, their bare feet landing silently on the cracked concrete floor. Steels doors stood on either side of the hall, many rusted to the point of disuse, the others still barely workable. Coming to a cross in the hall, England halted at the corner and peered down either end. Finding it clear, he turned to France.

"Do you remember where the others are?"

"I think Roderich, Ludwig and Feliciano are in a separate compound…but Mathias and Léa are somewhere in this building."*

England made a silent decision and turned to the right. The two ran down the concrete hall, pausing at intersections to check for any guards before continuing on down the way. Guttural, hissing speech of the aliens came into focus, and England paused a moment. "...Where?" France whispered.

England nodded to the next intersection and moved forward, carefully stepping through the dust, dirt and petrified remains of paint littering the floor. Halting at the corner, England used a reflective surface of the alien gun and held it such a way as to reveal the two alien guards standing before a heavy steel door. England pulled the gun close to him and held up two fingers to France, who nodded and prepared his gun. Taking a deep breath, England surged around the corner, raised the gun and fired. The shots sounded, an echoing explosion, and the two aliens fell, one screeching and moaning, clutching its chest that was ripped open. France rushed down the hall and smashed his gun into the invaders face with England following close behind. Reaching for the keys, he started going through them to try and open the door. France stepped close and whispered through the cracked hinges.

"Mathias! Léa!" France called. "Are you in there? Are you alright?"

A moment passed before a surprised male voice came through. "Ah, yes we're fine! Is that you, Francis?"

"Yes, England and I escaped, and-"

A ear-piercing wailing alarm sounded. England winced at the sound that slammed into his eardrums and cursed.

"They know we're missing!" England frantically flipped through the keys and tried each one on the lock until a barely audible click sounded. "There!"

He tore the door open and standing inside was Denmark and Belgium. Denmark's body held many bruises and puckered, still-healing scars. Belgium stood beside him looking equally bruised, her long hair dirtied and pulled back at the nape of her neck in a ponytail.

"Get out of here!" Denmark glared at England. "It's too late, by now there will be guards swarming the grounds."

"_No_." England stepped forward and tried unlocking their cuffs. "Now is our _only_ chance!"

"The guards will be here any minute!" Belgium waved her cuffed hands at them. "Just go!"

England finally dropped the keys in frustration, and held his right hand over the locks and started muttering an old and ancient language. France glared at him and grabbed his arm.

"Stop!" He growled. "You can't use your talent-"

The lock clicked open and aliens stormed the room.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **There's a time skip and as the group nears Germany, they run into Prussia and Hungary, who know where the captured nations are and how to get them. After the battle with the aliens, America hangs by a thread while Russia fights to free him and the others.

Extra Notes

1) …**better access to the two magnum revolver's resting at his waist in the old fashioned holster.** - Okay so I think it's finally time to explain a bit about these two guns America always carries. [From Wiki] "While the .44 Magnum was very popular among shooters for many years after its introduction, it did not come to the attention of the general public until 1971, when Clint Eastwood's character "Dirty" Harry Callahan described the .44 Magnum as "the most powerful handgun in the world" in the film Dirty Harry. While this was not strictly true in 1971 (the more powerful .454 Casull was announced in 1959, and was available in custom revolvers),[5] it still caused prices of the Smith & Wesson Model 29 to skyrocket; demand far exceeded supply, and guns were selling for triple the normal retail price. This sudden surge in popularity elevated the .44 Magnum to "magical" levels, spawning a mythos, such as the (false) claim that the .44 Magnum could "stop a car at a hundred yards—put a round right through the engine block"—a claim made by Easy Andy, the gun dealer character in the 1976 film Taxi Driver.[8][25] The .44 Magnum continued to be associated with Dirty Harry's character, including the scene with Eastwood's famous line "Go ahead, make my day" in the 1983 film Sudden Impact." …Because ever since I saw that Clint Eastwood movie, I can imagine America wanting a set of those and abusing that quote. /dork

2) "**America waited, and Tony opened up with suppressive fire."** - For those of you who don't watch war/historical/action movies: "Suppressive fire is a term used in military science and defined by NATO as "fire that degrades the performance of a target below the level needed to fulfil its mission. Suppression is usually only effective for the duration of the fire."[1] Suppressive fire is not always a direct form of fire towards targets, it can be an effective visual and audiable distraction. It is one of three types of fire support which is defined by NATO as "the application of fire, coordinated with the manoeuvre of forces, to destroy, neutralize or suppress the enemy." Before NATO defined the term the British and Commonwealth armies generally used 'neutralisation' with the same definition as suppression. NATO now defines neutralization as "Fire delivered to render a target temporarily ineffective or unusable."

3) …**Now I'll get to see if all that time I spent practicing my quick draw will pay off…** - On America's "wiki" page, at the hetalia wiki site, it lists "Quick Draw" as one of America's hobbies. [From Wiki] "…Fast Draw (Or Quick Draw) is a sport based on the romanticized art of the gunslingers in the American Old West, using traditional single action revolvers. Unlike Cowboy action shooting, Fast Draw is shot with special blanks or wax bullets. While some competitions are strictly against the clock, with the fastest time winning, many are set up as head to head single or double elimination matches."

4)** Canada asked, his eyes staring at France and England, their **_**elder brothers**_***, knowing he wouldn't get an answer.** - Thought I should explain a little about the relationship between the F/A/C/E family. France and England are together in a relationship. America and Canada are not, and they're also not related to England or France by blood, but view them as "family" or "elder brothers".

5)** Mathias Køhler** – Denmark Human Name. I got this from a hetalia website that listed this as Denmarks "human" name.

6)** Léa** – Belgium Human Name (Not sure about a surname yet, or if I'll even need it. Any suggestions?) This name I found through "most popular girl names in Belgium."


	12. Chapter 12

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language & violence.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

**Note:** Since we're catching up with this story at the Kinkmeme, I've changed the updates to once every two weeks. However I'll be on vacation for the next 9 days (camping/hiking in the wilderness), so I decided to update again real quick before I left :)

* * *

Late December

America sat in the back of the car with Canada. Tony drove the small car while Russia sat in the passenger seat, dead asleep and snoring from his long driving session.

Upon leaving Belarus's borders, the group tried to stock up on as much fuel as they could find, but once they crossed over into Poland finding spare fuel that hadn't gone bad from sitting at the bottom of car tanks from aging and the elements was difficult.* They kept to smaller, remote roads and avoided larger towns that might hold alien infiltrators. Christmas came and went with little acknowledgment, and the group counted the car as a Christmas gift, as they didn't have to walk.

Canada nudged America, who turned to him with a questioning look.

"Ak'ei," Canada whispered, his eyes fixed on America and with a knowing look, nodded to Russia. "…áháshchiih baa."

_Brother… I am aware of it._

_…He's speaking Navajo._ America blinked and glanced to Tony, who was glaring at them in the rear view mirror. _…Because of Tony? He wants to keep this conversation from him?_ America returned to stare at his twin, who was staring at him expectantly. It wasn't as if they haven't done it before, using their native languages to speak to each other if they didn't want anyone to understand them. It started out as a game they would play to irritate England, back when they were tiny colonies. Now they used it to discuss highly classified information or to gossip openly during a break in international meetings and conferences.

Rolling the phrases through his mind, he translated them silently. _Aware…aware of what?_

Canada nodded to Russia, and then motioned to America with a wave of his finger.

America felt something flutter in his chest at the sudden realization. Frowning, America glared at him. "Doo nik'ehdii Baa Nasháa Da."

_What I'm doing is none of your business._

_What happens between Ivan and I is __**our**__ business._ America leaned away, wanting to distance himself from his twin. _Honestly-_

Canada pressed on, his blue-gray eyes growing serious. "Hahgo?"

_When?_

America clenched his teeth, annoyance rolling through him. "Ha'át'ííshą'?"

_What do you want?_

Canada let a soft sigh escape his lips.

"Ayor…da'?"

_Do you love him?_

America openly blanched at him. Color stained his cheeks, and he looked away.

Canada leaned forward, his face holding a look that was identical to the wide-eyed fascination America got whenever he discovered something new.

"Aaniinii da'?"

_It's true?_

America made a sound at the back of his throat and shrugged his shoulders.

"Huh?" Annoyance and confusion flooded Canada's face. "Háí lá ałdó da'?"

_Is there anyone else?_

"What?" America gasped in dismay, breaking the Navajo only conversation. "There _is_ 'no one else'-…" America broke off at the sudden shoulder-jerk from Tony up front; a blush flooded his cheeks and he quickly switched back to Navajo. "…nda. Nihį…"

_No. He is…_

America fell silent and stared at the car seat. Canada smiled knowingly.

"Nihí…nánísdzá?"

_It is difficult?_

America picked at a loose thread and thought of the relationship he held with the elder nation. _…I…I don't know. We've never really talked about it. We had just started dating before the flash and… and… Never brought it up. I mean…I think I love him but…I…I don't know._

Finally, he picked his head up to peer at Canada.

"Aoo. Nihí nánísdzá."

_Yes. It is difficult.

* * *

_

Night fell, and the car sputtered to a halt.

"No more gas." Tony grumbled, opening the car door and slamming it shut behind him.

The sudden sound startled Russia from a sound sleep with a snort. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he stretched his limbs as much as the tiny car could allow, given his extreme height, and yawned deeply.

"Сколько времени?"*

America sat up from his slouched position and peered at the dark green and yellow sky.

"Around eight…I think."

"Mmn." Russia made a sound of acknowledgment at the back of his throat, reached for the door and threw it open with another yawn. Sliding his feet out, he stood, stumbled a moment before straightening and stretched his limbs once more.

America and Canada also exited the car and looked around.

"Where are we?" America asked, turning to glance at Tony.

"South-eastern Germany, near the border of Poland." Tony stated flatly as he searched a car stranded on the opposite side of the tiny, two-land road.

Russia turned around and stepped closer to America and Canada. "We are close to Prussia's country home that he shared with Germany."

"How close?" America felt his mouth run dry as excitement flushed through him. "How soon can we get there?"

"Another day… if we can find fuel easily."

America frowned. The most time they wasted was when they foraged for fuel. Sometimes it only took a couple hours, other times taking as long as three days to carry the fuel over long distances. And most often it was of poor quality, and the engine tended to use more of it due to its advanced age.

"Should we split up again?" Canada asked and leaned against the car. "Do you think they've been following us still?"

America stepped closer to his twin, standing beside him. "I think we'll be okay, honestly. We would have noticed if they followed us… with us in the car and all."

Russia rubbed the sleep from his eyes and ran his fingers through his thick ashy-blond hair. "I agree. I think we will be alright in…staying together."

"This car has fuel." Tony called from across the road.

America pushed away from the VW Belarus gave them and stepped across the road to Tony. "I'll lift the car up, you get the hose ready."

Tony forced the cap open to the fuel tank and jammed a long, plastic tube into the opening. Getting the nod from Tony, America gripped the underside of the car and hefted it up with ease. Sticking the other end of the plastic tube into the plastic storage container, seconds ticked by until the fuel started through the hose, and down into the container. Russia stepped across the road to survey the process. Curiosity filled his violet gaze, and Russia stepped as closer to America.

"Is…is that car heavy?"

America glanced to him. "Mmm…not really."

"Not…really?" Russia echoed, fascination filtering into his voice. "What is the heaviest thing you've ever lifted?"

"Uhh…well…" America shifted from one foot to the next, having no trouble balancing the heavy car as he shifted. "I know when I was young I could pick up a full grown buffalo. But…I think the heaviest thing I've ever picked up was a steam engine? Yeah, that was kinda heavy."

"…_Kinda_?" Russia parroted. "Could you lift something even heavier?"

_…why does he always ask me about this?_

"Yeah… I could. Cause when I did that it was during my civil war, so I was in a lot of pain anyways." America continued on, his tone holding a self-conscious edge. "I'd probably struggle a bit, but I could lift it-"

Russia shushed him with a wave of his hand, turning his head, he grew silent and listened. Only the sound of the fuel trickling into the plastic container filled the air. Fields with clusters of trees surrounded them. Grasses moved and shifted.

_Fuck me._ America bit his lip and heard the movement behind him. _All of our guns are in the car._

There was a shot, and the metallic _ping_ of a bullet striking a metal surface sounded next to America's hand. In the blink of an eye, Russia had his TT-30 in hand and fired into the field, the shots quick and consistent. A hissing shriek sounded, and more shots erupted. America turned and with a huge step forward, flung the car in the direction of the gunfire. The car flew through the air silently, save for the mad scrambling of the aliens as they ran away, revealing themselves. The car smashed to the ground with crunching metal and shattering glass. The others were gunned down in seconds. America turned to Russia with a smirk on his face.

"Nice shooting."

Russia shook his head and reloaded his weapon. "I was not the one who killed them."

America frowned, and turned to Canada. His brother was just exiting the car, rifle in hand. Upon seeing America's questioning look, he shook his head negatively. Tony calmly screw the cap in place on the plastic container and pointed to the trees.

"It came from over there."

America followed his finger and found Prussia and Hungary exiting the trees, rifles in hand.

* * *

"How did you find us?" America asked after the introductions concluded.

"We have been following this particular group of aliens for three days now." Hungary admitted. "They were among those that kidnapped the others…" Her eyes grew pained at the mention of her former _husband_. "And we wished to find out where their base of operations were, when they broke off suddenly."

"Antonio and Romano followed the others." Prussia supplied, and peered at America and Canada, a smirk growing across his face. "I should've _known_ you two would be alive."

Canada smiled. "Alfred and I aren't so easy to kill off." America nodded in agreement.

"We have heard what happened." Russia got right to the point. "And we know where they are keeping the others."

Prussia and Hungary gaped at him. America motioned to Tony, who was glaring at everyone.

"It's all thanks to Tony, really." America admitted with a smile. "He's the one who cracked their written language and got into their network…thanks to that communications vehicle we discovered."

"Well where are they?" Prussia asked, his voice growing impatient. "If you know where west and the others are then tell us."

"Abandoned air base from World War 2. Kummersdorf."

Russia's eyes widened in recognition.

"That's near Berlin…" Prussia frowned. "West was having it demolished to expand Schönefeld airport…"*

"They might have been using it as temporary holding until they moved them to a more secure location?" Hungary offered. "In any case, we could make it there in your car in less than a day if we didn't stop for fuel, and come up with a plan along the way."

America looked at Canada, who nodded with a shrug. "Sounds good to Matthew and I. Ivan?"

Russia remained silent for a moment, and rolling the new information through his mind before nodding. "…I agree. It is important that no more of us are captured."

"…No more?" Hungary questioned. "Did you find out about any of the others?"

"We'll tell you everything we know along the way."

Prussia shouldered his rifle and headed for the car.

"Let's get going, the longer we stand here the less time we have of saving the others."

* * *

Early Next Morning

America ignored the frigid chill of the air and ran through the trees towards the abandoned airbase, now alien compound. Russia followed close behind, his rifle ready and loaded. Buildings loomed ahead through the trees, and America stopped just short of the tree line and crouched behind a thick tree trunk. Russia found one close by and remained standing.

After exchanging information with Prussia and Hungary, they decided to split up into teams of two and sneak into the abandoned airbase.

"See anyone?" Russia whispered.

America peered through the trees into the open area that surrounding the group of red brick buildings. Four large armored vehicles stood before the largest building. Guards standing around, waiting with boxes and other soldiers. America frowned and turned to face him.

"Something's wrong. I think they're leaving."

Russia clenched his gun, suspicion filling him. "_Leaving_?"

America nodded and peered through the early morning darkness. "I think I see more coming…"

Two double doors opened and a huge group of guards stepped outside, followed chained prisoners. Heart leaping into his throat, America jumped up and surged forward. Russia grabbed his arm and shoved him against the tree.

"_Stop it_." Russia hissed. "We can't take them all on."

America glared at him. "But they're all _there_!"

_Ludwig and Feliciano, Roderich and Francis and Arthur…_

"I can't just let them get _away_." America pulled out one of the high explosive alien grenades Tony gave him. "If we use this-"

"It's too _risky_." Russia shook him by the front of his shirt. "We can't-"

America pushed him away, pressed the button on the grenade, stepped around the tree and flung it across the clearing. A huge fireball exploded under one of the armored vehicles, splitting it in half and sending pieces of it everywhere.

"_Damnit_, Alfred." Russia growled at him, tore his own grenade from his pocket and flung it across the clearing where it blew up another armored vehicle.

The prisoners were herded away; more than twenty guards led them out of the clearing and into the surrounding woods. Two more explosions sounded, the shock waves slamming into America's chest. The alien vehicles were utterly destroyed, and the remaining aliens fought to find cover. America raised his rifle and picked off the aliens one by one, Russia joining him in the carnage. After the last one fell, America turned and stepped into the clearing, looking around for where the others escaped.

"There!" America shouted at Russia. "Come on!"

Russia sighed and followed after him.

* * *

America peered into the tracks on the forest floor.

"They went through here, and over this way…" Standing, he pointed in the general direction. "If we hurry, we can catch up with them."

Russia frowned and shook his head. "…I don't like this."

"What's not to like?" America gaped at him. "We're so close and yet you want to sit here and do nothing!"

"Nothing?" Russia echoed. "I am thinking through this clearly. The alien's might be expecting us to follow after them."

"…What are you saying?" America glared at him. For months he'd worried over England, despite his brother's assurances that the elder nation was fine. To be so close to rescuing him _and_ the others…his heart hammered against his ribcage. "How can you be so calm? We can't just _sit_ here while the others are getting away."

"_Calm __**down**_." Russia warned. "You running off blindly will solve nothing."

America swallowed and breathed in deeply.

"…Fine."

Russia continued to glare at him for a moment before refocusing onto the trail of several footprints.

"I suggest we follow the foot prints, but off the main trail. That way if they set up an ambush of some sort, we will catch it."

America crossed his arms and thought over Russia's plan.

"Alright. I think I can do that."

"…Good."

"But I'm on point." America insisted. "I'm better at tracking than you."

"Really?" Russia raised an eyebrow at him. "You think you are better than me?"

"Yep. I think so." America smirked at him and turned back to the prints. Carefully, he stepped off the trail and into the deep underbrush. "This way."

Russia followed; checking back to ensure they weren't followed as America trained his eyes forward, scouting ahead for any movement. Several minutes passed, and the only sounds were those of the forest waking up to the morning sunrise. Birds chirped and wind rustled the leaves and branches as the sun filtered through the canopy to the forest floor. Studying the tracks, they curved and trailed around, many seeming floundering and hurried, while others were slower and steady.

"..Are they…lost?" America questioned softly and stepped around a large tree. "It's almost like… they stop and go, figuring out where they're trying to go…" Frowning, America stepped out of the thick woods and back onto the trail, hoping to clarify his assumptions with a closer look at the prints.

A click was his only warning before gunfire exploded up the trail. Bullet's slammed into his chest and abdomen, the sudden burning pain, the dull aching throb they left behind.

He stumbled and fell backward onto the ground. The gunfire abruptly halted.

* * *

America groaned and opened his eyes. He felt stiff and a throbbing burn filled his chest. Looking down, he found his chest shot multiple times, blood already soaking into the layers of clothing wrapped around him.

_Shit…not good._

Aliens crowded around him, all chortling and hissing at each other, their beady eyes focused on him. Seeming to come to a decision, two of them gripped America's upper-arms and lifted his torso off the ground.

Pain ripped through him, and America couldn't help the half-growled groan that escaped.

"Let _go_ of me you **bastards**-"

They hissed at him, and one of them punched his vulnerable belly. America coughed and groaned.

"_Fuck_-!" America spat, blood staining his teeth. "-you."

His chest felt wet and warm, his limbs and fingers clammy and chilled.

Trees passed by overhead as America was half carried, half dragged through the dirt and bushes. His booted feet scraped on the ground, and blood dripped from the bottom of his jacket.

_Ivan…Ivan was behind me._ America turned his eyes around, glancing from one side of the trail to the other. _He'll wait for the right moment, and then attack. I just…I have to be patient._

He breathed, and everything went bubbly. Blood filled his mouth and spilled over, trickling past his jaw and down his neck. There was a distant pain deep within his chest. America knew he should be worried about it, but found that all he could do was stare at the weapon the aliens had attached to their midsections.

_It's so close… so __**close**__…if I could just…_

America shifted and tried lifting his right arm. His muscles moved slowly and it felt as if the air was thick as molasses. A screeching hiss was aimed at him, the alien's three fingers suddenly tightened painfully and jerked his arm in a painful twist. A muffled pop sounded in the still woods.

A pain-filled shout exploded from his chest at the sudden dislocation.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck __**fuck**__-!_ They continued to drag him using his arms. A burning, tearing sensation flared at his right shoulder. America bit his lip and growled. _Just put me down, fucking __**please**__…_

They stopped suddenly, and the alien's hissed something to each other. More of them stepped over, staring at him as if he were an insect crawling helplessly with its wings torn off. Voices sounded from a distance, voices that sounded _human_. There was shouting, and someone calling his name, but the aliens rushed away and the voices abruptly fell into silence.

The aliens walked forward again, trees moving past his vision until they lifted him higher in the air and flung him away. His back struck the ground and pain jackknifed through him. A scream erupted in his chest before he could stop it, but instead of cutting through the air, it came out as a garbled moan, wet and bubbly. Figures crowded around him, their voices whispering to each other. One voice cut above the rest, and America closed his eyes._ Just let me sleep…I wish I could just wake up…and all of this will be a dream…_

"…Alfred…_Alfred_-" Someone nudged him. "Come back, don't give up just yet."

America forced his eyes open. The figures were blurry, and America squeezed his eyes shut once more before opening them once more.

England stared down at him. His green eyes glistening with concern and narrowed with anger. France sat beside him, a similar look plastered onto his face.

"…Ah…rth…?" America tried speaking, but it came out garbled beyond recognition. Choking, America spat up a mouthful of blood. "Nggh…"

"Shhh~…" France shushed, and nudged him with his knee. "Don't speak. You will only make it worse."

America made a vague sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat, and stared at his _elder brothers_. They were much thinner than he remembered, but appeared to be healthy enough. Their clothes were bloodied and tattered, his hair dirty and skin smudged with dirt. _How long as it been…?_

Turning his head, America found the others sitting nearby. Austria, Germany and Northern Italy sat together, while Denmark and Belgium sat huddled, their eyes focused on him. Germany shot a teal-eyed glare at the aliens guarding them and shifted closer on his knees. He studied Alfred's wounds, looking at each bullet hole before noticing his arm. His eyes narrowed and he shifted his gaze to England and France.

"Well?" England asked, his voice muted and soft, but low and demanding.

"…From what I can see," Germany started. "Only his lungs took serious damage, but… due to all the blood, I assume one of the arteries has been hit…"

"Alfred…everything will be alright." England whispered, leaning close to him. "Matthew… he is here."

America looked at him, and then around the makeshift camp. His twin was nowhere to be found. A moment passed, and it dawned on him that Matthew was using his talent, his _invisibility_ to hide himself from the invaders.

"_Ak'ei…_" A soft, barely recognizable voice whispered into his ear. "Ayor…" He felt a touch over his heart. "Áhályą…"

America blinked, and felt England and France's eyes on him.

_Russia… he's taking care of what? Of the aliens?_ America felt his throat close up in alarm. _…alone? He's doing it alone? What happened to Tony, Prussia and Hungary? Are they alright?_

Canada's voice returned, a bare whisper.

"Ánaai… adigash."

America turned to England who stared at him with curiosity. _Did he hear him too?_ America worked his mouth and throat. _England…and his magic…what does he want to use his magic for? Not to escape but… maybe to distract?_

England leaned in close, putting on a fake show of pain in his gut to prevent the guards from growing suspicious. America breathed in and tried not to cough and gasp.

"Distract…your magic-" America's lungs seized, blood filled his throat and spilled over his lips. White spots filled his vision as he burned for a lungful of sweet oxygen.

England pulled away and stared off into space, his eyes growing hard with concentration. It was a look America had witnessed before, back when he was young and stumbled in on England performing magic when he thought America was in bed sleeping.

The others crowded around him, France leaned in close and spoke to him, forcing him to remain conscious, lapsing between French and English.

Sleep clawed at him and drug him under, wrapping its layers of darkness and warmth around him. America struggled to keep his eyes open, tearing the layers away and pulling himself to surface, but the urge was too strong. His body relaxed, his eyelids slid closed, and darkness welcomed him.

* * *

An explosion shook the forest; a fire ball erupted some distance away.

Broken from his surprise, Russia slammed the butt of his rifle into the alien's face, and shot the other in the chest. A sickening crack and its chest was splayed open, green blood spraying and spilling across the ground.

Reloading America's dropped rifle with fluidity, Russia moved forward, rushing from tree to tree for cover.

"It came from over here!" Prussia's voice materialized behind him, and the others appeared nearby.

"Where are the twins?" Hungary asked. "What happened?"

Russia continued stepping through the woods. "Alfred was caught by surprise, and _they_ gunned him down."

Tony clenched his own rifle, his eyes narrowing in response.

Screeching and chortling came through the trees. Russia stopped and peered into the clearing. Aliens were rushing around, many training their guns on the prisoners while the others all pointed to a charred crater. Leaving the two guards behind, the aliens crowded around the crater, all peering inside and looking for the cause. Prussia, Hungary and Tony came in beside him.

It took only seconds to gun them all down.

Hungary rushed into the clearing with Prussia following after her. She ran to her former husband and flung her arms around him in a back-breaking hug. Prussia checked Germany, and the two conversed to each other in German while France unlocked his cuffs. Tony stared at America for a moment before turning and checking the dead aliens for any supplies and high tech gear they might find useful. The other's quickly followed Tony's example and took an inventory of everything they collected. Russia walked steadily across the clearing, stood at America's feet and stared, worry dripping from his lingering gaze.

"Alfred…_Al_-" Canada called, dropping his invisibility, and pressed his first two fingers to the side of his neck."His pulse is slow… he can hardly breathe…"

"His lungs are filling up with blood." England unzipped the jacket, yanked the knife from its sheath at America's waist and cut the two layer's of red and white shirts down the center. The blood soaked fabric was pushed away, revealing America's tan chest and the multiple bullet holes. Blood pulsed from the bullet wounds in synch with each heart beat, continually soaking his skin with a red glistening sheen. "We need to elevate his torso-"

"The alien's had a _human_ first aid kit." Germany stood, shoved one of the dead alien guards away, and tore through the heavy bag it carried until he withdrew another red canvas bag. "They wanted us to remain in good health."

"Why the hell would they want that?" Prussia asked, his face narrowing in angry confusion. "They've done nothing but try to kill us since they got here."

The others fell silent at that, and refocused their attention onto the problems at hand.

Russia moved suddenly and kneeled at America's side beside Canada, gently plucking the bag from Germany's hands.

"I would rather conduct the surgery." Russia stated evenly and without offense.

Germany nodded silently, understanding the underlying intent of his words and backed away.

Opening the red bag, Russia withdrew medical items that might be a common sight in an old fashioned field medic's bag, save for the extra current supplies thrown in. He withdrew a plethora of items, including hemostats, gloves, alcohol, cotton pads and many other items.

"I will drain his lungs. Arthur, you keep him asleep and help turn his body. Mathew, I want you to pop his shoulder back into place, and be ready to give blood after we close up these wounds."

"I can't cast a spell for sleep without it further lowering his heart rate." England warned. "If he wakes up then we'll have to put those cuffs on him and hold him down."

Russia frowned, but nodded anyway and prepared hard plastic tubing for his lungs.

Canada held a look of grim concentration as he gripped his brother's shoulder in one hand, his arm in the other. Germany pressed his fingers gently to the arm and the shoulder socket, checking to see if it was the correct position and for any further damage. After a nod of approval, Canada snapped his arm back into place with a muffled _pop_.

England rolled America onto his left side and held him steady while Russia picked up two hard plastic surgical tubing, withdrew America's knife and cut the ends at a sharp angle.*

"Keep him still."

* * *

America opened his eyes and felt a dull soreness in his chest. Something clutched his hand, fingers interwoven around his own. Forcing his eyelids open and closed, he blinked the sleep away and lifted his head.

His brother lay in a bed directly beside him, his hand stretched across the small gape to clutch his hand.

"Mattie…?" His voice was horse and raw. "Are…?"

"Hush now, lad."

America turned and found England stepping into the tiny brick-walled room. A ball of _something_ welled up inside his chest, and America opened his mouth to speak, but found his tongue in knots. England shushed him again, stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him. America stilled, feeling the arms around him, the comforting warmth of his elder brother filling his chest. His muscles relaxed, he pressed his face into England's shoulder and breathed in, relief flooding him. His eyes burned, and he squeezed them shut. England pressed his hand to America's head, giving it an awkward pat before pulling away.

England cleared his throat and looked away, his eyes embarrassed. America leaned forward and gripped his hand.

"You're…okay?" America asked. "Mattie-"

"He gave you lot of blood." England turned back to him. "He was worried about you… your body was on the brink...only your people and land were supporting you." England finally turned his evergreen gaze to meet America's stare. "I'm glad you're alright."

America cracked a smile. _You always were awkward about expressing yourself…but… I guess I'm the same way._

"Of course I'm alright."

England frowned. "Its just...I-"

"It's okay." America interrupted. "I know. I understand…I…I felt the same."

England grew silent for a moment before a tiny smile cracked across his face.

"Right."

* * *

Russia came in after England left. Two hot plates of food were carefully brought in and set by the end table between the two beds. Grasping the chair, Russia pulled it close to America's beside and sat down.

"England didn't cook, did he?"

Russia smirked, knowing of England's poor cooking skills.

"Francis did the cooking." Russia touched the blankets and gently pulled them down to America's waist. "Your wounds need to be checked."

America swallowed and watched as he carefully rolled the end of his shirt upward to reveal his bandaged chest. Gently, softly, he pulled each bandage away. A sticky film covered each raw wound, the cool German air touching the still healing entry wounds.*

"Well?" America asked, his stomach growling at the smell of the hot plate of food steaming beside him.

"You are healing at your normal rate." Surprise tinted his voice, and Russia continued to check each wound. "You are almost to your healing level from before the invasion."

"_Good._" America sighed in relief. "I was afraid I'd be stuck in bed for a month."

"If this happened when we were traveling through Alexei's land, you wouldn't have fared so…well." Russia put each bandage back into place and pulled his shirt back down. "It seems the interior of the wounds have made a full recovery. Now we must wait for the exterior to heal."

America frowned and made a face. "I have to stay in bed?"

"Just until tomorrow morning." Russia allowed, and picked up his plate of food and the fork that came with it. "Rabbit and freeze dried vegetables taken from the human food the aliens were keeping."

"More rabbit…" America couldn't help but feel his tongue curl in distaste at the prospect of eating rabbit meat. "I would give anything for some beef. I bet Darren would have beef right now…"

Russia paused and raised an eyebrow. "…Darren?"

America glanced to the elder nation and found his violet eyes narrowing with each passing second.

"Yeah. Darren." America smiled. "You know... Texas?"

"Ah." Russia swallowed and shifted in his wooden chair. "Texas."

"You've met him before."

"Is that so?"

America frowned. "You don't remember."

"Forgive me if I cannot remember your precious states." Sarcasm dripped from his voice. "If I can recall, you have yet to meet any of _my_-"

"You remember Alexei."

"That is different." Russia set his jaw and stabbed the fork through the cuts of rabbit meat and pieces of boiled vegetables.

"Different?" America questioned. "Because of your influence? Because you once had him long ago?"

"Because he is like one of our own." Russia admitted and held the fork full of rabbit meat and boiled peas at him. "Now eat."

"One of our own?" America parroted. "You mean like…like a…_son_?"

"Not a son." Russia forced out, the muscles of his jaw working. "But…"

"Like one of our own." America repeated once more. "I never knew you felt so…so strongly about him."

"Natasha views him as extended family."

America paled. "She _what_?"

"Not in that way." Russia quickly amended. "Not as she did…towards me. Before Lithuania..."

"Oh." America visibly relaxed. "Right."

Russia pressed the tip of the fork to America's lips.

"Now stop talking and eat. Your body needs the nutrients."

America swallowed and felt his stomach twist and ache. He parted his lips and let Russia move the fork into his mouth, where he closed his tongue and lips around the fork. Russia pulled the fork away clean through his lips and gathered and stabbed more food onto its prongs. America moved the savory meat and mushy vegetables around his taste buds until he swallowed the mouthful with a smile.

"That's the best meal I've had since Mattie's pancakes."

Russia hummed in agreement and held the fork out, which America gladly took into his mouth, taking the food away. They continued in silence, Russia feeding America until the plate was scraped clean. Smiling, America leaned back into the mattress and pressed a hand to his belly.

"A warm meal… I almost forgot how it felt."

Russia stood, plate in hand, and turned for the door. America stared at him in sudden confusion and gripped his arm.

"Where are you going?"

Russia paused and turned back to him, glancing to the hand clenching his arm before meeting America's questioning stare.

"…To put these away." Russia shifted the plate and fork to his free hand and tugged his arm away from America's vise-like grip. "You must sleep."

"Don't wanna." America frowned and reached for his arm once more. "Can't you just stay a while?"

"…You want me to stay?" Russia couldn't help the tiny smirk spreading across his face. "Why?"

America felt the words he'd spoken within his mind standing on the edge of his tongue.

"Ayor-" America bite his tongue and shook his head. Nervousness crashed through him and his chest tightened. "…a- no. Um."

Russia stared at him curiously.

"Ayor?"

"It's nothing." America stated in a rush and tried keeping the scarlet from filling his cheeks. "Just…I need sleep. That's all."

Russia frowned, suspicion resting heavily in his gaze.

"…Alright."

* * *

**Next Chapter: **The group takes a well-deserved reprieve after traveling non-stop for the past year, and fills the other nations in on the information America and Tony found, and try coming up with a plan on how to gather more intelligence; America finally comes to terms with his feelings for Russia.

Extra Notes (Lots and Lots of notes this time, sorry for the length D:)

1) "…**finding spare fuel that hadn't gone bad from sitting at the bottom of car tanks from aging and the elements was difficult."** - [From ] "Gasoline tends to lose oxidation and deteriorate after 4-6 months of non-use and will be for the most part useless after 1 year. While it certainly will still ignite and burn, the octane content for any engines usability is severely diminished as well the gas at this point may have also become both moisture laden with water vapor, and or particulate matter if it was not in a full and sealed tank when last used. "

2) "**West was having it demolished to expand Schönefeld airport…"** - This is directly quoted from a flickr album here: http(colon)/www(dot)flickr(dot)com/photos/phoenixesrose/sets/72157601115599912/ There's pictures of the place too, in case you're interested. Of course, I changed it a bit to fit the parameters of the story so I took some creative license.

**3) England rolled America onto his left side and held him steady while Russia picked up two hard plastic surgical tubing, withdrew America's knife and cut the ends at a sharp angle.** - I originally had the entire surgery written out, but it felt more like something out of a textbook and was kind of boring, so I cut it out and left it to the notes. (but if you think I should leave it in for the version don't hesitate on letting me know). All of this information came from my younger brother, who has taken two years of sports medicine, one year of anatomy, and is a biology major in college. Basically, when your shot in the chest and your lungs are punctured by bullet holes, they start filling up with fluid (about 95% of it is blood) and when your miles away from any kind of advanced medical care, you have to physically drain the lungs of fluid/blood so they can work again. In order to do this, you need to use something, like hard surgical tubing, cut it at a sharp angle and physically puncture the chest and the lung(s). This will allow the fluid to drain from the lungs and once drained, the tubing can be removed and the area elevated to prevent any further fluid from entering the lungs once more. As for the aorta artery that was nicked/hit (the artery that goes up your neck to supply your brain with blood), any normal human would be dead in minutes, but since Alfred isn't really human, he really doesn't need to worry about that. The other bullets, if still inside Alfred's body, would have to be removed with something like hemostats.

**4) A sticky film covered each raw wound, the cool German air touching the still healing entry wounds.** - Again, this information all came from my younger brother. Basically the "sticky stuff" is plasma. Its yellowish with a red tint, and it's stickier than water, but not gooey or anything like that. Most common wounds you might see this stuff in/on are abrasions (or as I like to affectionately call it, "road rash") and bad scrapes that take a while to heal.

Russian Translations (Done by silvensorrow!)

"**Сколько времени?"** - (Skol'ko vremeni?) What time is it?

Navajo Translations (From an online dictionary/pdf dictionary from the academic search engine ERIC, directly copy pasted with some changes, due to some symbols not transferable to Word. Also, the reason why I chose Navajo is because it has one of the most extensive/easy to use dictionary's I could find.)

**1) Ak'ei** - Kin, relative(s). The reason why I had Canada use this instead of the term for brother is they are twins, and in Navajo, at least the dictionary I was using, didn't had a word for just "brother". Instead all they had was "older" or "younger". So I decided to have them use this for each other.

**2) Doo nik'ehdii baa nasháa da** - What I'm doing is none of your business. (This actually came from a personal blog/website)

**3) Ha'át'iishą'** - What [do you want] (Last part is implied)

**4) Ayor** - Love (Assuming this based off another phrase)

**5) Aaniinii** - that which is true (The da' on the end adds a yes/no question marker)

**6) Háí lá ałdó da'** - Who else, which

**7) Nihí…nánísdzá** - you (plural) [are] difficult. The "love" is implied.


	13. Chapter 13

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language & violence.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

**Note:** I lied, I'll try updating every week now (I'm updating more at the kinkmeme). Hopefully this time it won't change. Sorry for the confusion!

* * *

Germany stood before a massive map of the world displayed over the dining table. Beside the table was an old, cracked chalkboard held up by Prussia. Written on the chalkboard were two numbers. The first number was 196, a line drawn over it, and the number 56 written atop the line.*

The other nations sat in varied places around the room, some sat squeezed together in an old loveseat or couch, others took wooden chairs from the dining tables, sat on the floor or merely remained standing.

"This number," Germany started, his voice calm yet commanding, and pointed to the number 56. "Is how many nations they currently have captured, according to the information America and Tony brought us, and matching it with our own."

There was murmuring, many shaking their heads in dismay.

"So many…" Belgium admitted softly.

"I am sure we **all** agree, that we _must_ prevent this number from getting any higher."

Many nodded or made positive sounds of agreement.

"Now, with what we know." Germany set the piece of chalk down and picked up a red pencil, glancing to America, Canada and Russia. "…Africa is close to being overrun, with only the most extreme of environments remaining free of invaders." He drew a line through the northern part of the Mediterranean, crossing through Italy, Greece, and Turkey. "They are building their forces and are making major assaults here, here, and here." Germany scratched three X's in the map, one on central Italy, one on the northern part of the Arabian peninsula, and one on southern Asia. "China has informed us via telegraph that he, and the other nations in the region are doing all they can to prevent the invaders from gaining more ground in their region. I have messages from Turkey that he and the other nations in his immediate area are fending off the invaders assault and are trying to keep them to the arid regions, as the aliens do not work well in exceptionally dry environments. As for the areas in the new world…America and Canada…?"

Everyone as a collective whole turned to stare questioningly at the twins.

Canada glanced to his brother, who stared back a moment before both turned back to face the group.

"There are small pockets of them in my lands." Canada admitted. "There are few large bases that I encountered, or heard of, while I was there."

"…That is good to hear." Germany admitted. "So the main force hasn't crossed your border yet."

Canada nodded and glanced to America again. America silently swallowed the lump back down his throat and stared at the world map lying on the table.

"I honestly don't know how everyone in Central and South America are fairing, save for what I've heard from my own people." America kept his eyes locked on the map. "But, if what I heard isn't an exaggeration, than South America is fairing badly. I'm assuming the rain forests are making it close to impossible to keep accurate checks on how many invaders there are. I've heard there are tens of thousands of them around my southern border and in my southern and south western states…but…I believe my people are holding them off."

_At least that's how I think their doing… I haven't been having any horrible dreams or physical pains…_

Germany scribbled something onto the map, noting Canada and America's report and after a moment, pulled away.

"Now, for the next item on the list, our plan of action against the aliens in this region." Prussia took Germany's seat and sat down, holding the chalkboard in his lap. "They have crossed the Mediterranean and have overrun many of the islands before landing in Southern Italy."

America couldn't help but glance over to Northern Italy, who was sitting on the couch with Belgium and France. Dark circles hung below his brown eyes, scratches and bruises covered the visible skin showing on his neck, arms and legs. His skin was sickly pale, but then again, many of the nation's held a similar pallor. America couldn't help but be reminded of the Second World War, and how he held a similar, albeit worse, physical state.

"Feliciano," Germany called, his voice calmer, softer than before. "Will you inform us of the situation?"

Northern Italy straightened and sat up, wincing momentarily before willing the weakness away from his face. Breathing inward, he drew himself up, a hardness entering his soft brown gaze as he focused on the world map spread across the table.

"My brother…he returned to help organize and work to keep the invaders from taking more ground. We've been using the Apennine Mountains to split the main invading force and keep them to the narrow coastline and valleys. They have yet to make it to the central areas, but…" He kept his descriptions short and simple. "We are running low on munitions."*

"I will be working with Sweden, Norway and Finland on getting factories running in the remote, northern regions." Denmark explained. "But the shipments will be slow until we can secure shipping routes."

"I will also be working on that…" England admitted. "Once I eliminate the invading forces from my lands, the channel will provide a natural defense. But as for shipping supplies overseas… using the modern engines of today is unrealistic, with the state oil refining is in. I believe we will have to return to wind power, at least until we have a steady supply of fuel, and save the remaining fuel reserves for military purposes. I can easily restart my ship building industry, but a steady supply of wood will be a problem, as I don't have the natural woodland as I once had in the past."*

Everyone nodded or made sounds of agreement. Germany scribbled notes directly onto the map, marking over Italy and then over England.

"Now for the food situation." Germany swallowed a sigh, and leaned against the table. "According to information that everyone has given me… and according to my calculations… we only have enough food to last us through next spring. March, specifically." A weighty silence followed before Germany continued. "To put it simply… we have 3 and ½ months before levels of starvation exceed 50%."

"Farming has grown increasingly difficult." France explained, his voice growing annoyed. "Defending them from attack and preventing the aliens from burning the crops are close to impossible."

"It is the same for me and my sisters." Russia admitted. "Defending the large areas of farm land is impossible with how things are now. The minute the invaders find the farmland they set fire to it. I have been needing to keep more guards, be it military or militia run, to defend the land."

_Just like back then… when I was a colony, and then when I was settling the central plains… the natives and thieves would attack and raid the farmland…_

"You could try night watches," Canada announced suddenly. America glanced to him, and realized his brother apparently had been remembering similar events his own history. "Put ads or spread by word of mouth for local people to watch over the farms at night. They would get paid a small sum according to how well a job they do and how long they do it, and in turn they spend that money…"*

"Which helps the economy." America finished for him. "We used to do it a lot back when… we dealt with the natives…" America trailed off, uncomfortable with the topic.

Canada nodded and faced the others. France scratched at his jaw where the beginnings of a beard were just starting to show.

"To be honest, I have been considering something like that for a few weeks. But now that you two have testified for it…I will try it."

Russia also nodded in agreement with France, but said nothing.

"A good idea to implement. For now we will have to continue to ration the food until supply can meet demand." Germany scribbled onto the map once more. "England, what is the situation of the Atlantic? Is traveling, via sailing, safe enough for shipping and regular routes to be reopened across the ocean?"

England shifted in his spot on the floor. "I was able to sail and meet Iceland to check on him. He informed me that his fishermen have reported sightings of alien jets and other aircraft patrolling the ocean. No alien oceanic vessels have been reported. Yet." England kept his tone guarded despite the weariness filtering into his voice. "But… I think it will be… saf_er_ by taking a more northerly route. The dangers of storms and icebergs rise, but a route that makes stops at Iceland, Greenland, then through Newfoundland and down the coastline will provide more safety than on the open ocean."

The others nodded in agreement.

"Once I return, I can talk to Newfoundland and Quebec on securing the coastline." Canada stated. "But-"

"I was going to ask you two," interrupted England. "But how long were you two intending to stay?"

"I…" Canada paused and glanced to his brother before turning to face England once more. "We only came to get back in contact with everyone. To find out what was going on, what everyone was doing and how we could help."

America nodded in agreement with Canada's words. "Once we get our lands safer, we can help with supplies, like food, wood, and mining natural resources. Shipping will be a problem, I think, but…I guess that's something we'll have to continue working on."

"What of communication?" France asked. "The wait time for a message to cross the Atlantic via sailing ship is at _least_ six months. What of the telegraph wire that was laid across the Atlantic?"

"It should still work."* England admitted. "But the town the messages came to has been bombed, and finding the right machines and technology to rework the wire and accept messages has been…difficult. But with time, my brothers and I can get it working. Canada…?"

"About the same for me."

"So you two will be staying a little while?" Belgium asked.

"A week?" Canada questioned with a glance to America. America nodded in agreement. "Then we have to return."

"I'll see if I can prepare a ship and gather a crew and captain." England exclaimed. "I'll go with you, mainly to help adjust the crew to the new route and to sailing in general."

Germany scribbled more notes onto the map, nodding and mumbling softly in German to Prussia, who answered back in short words or phrases.

America stared at the map, at all the notes scribbled in German over varied areas across the map. Closing his eyes, he visualized the alien map of Earth, back in the alien vehicle. The vivid colors ranging from red, orange and green. The categorical layout of each group of nations, and how it seemed to be groups based on the tectonic plates rather than the continents.

"…and as we have discussed before, focus first on eliminating the invaders from your own lands before sending aid to others, however-"

"America?" France questioned, interrupting Germany. "Do you have something else you might like to add?"

America swallowed the lump back down his throat and cursed France's ability to read him like a book.

"Back when Tony and I were going through the computer files on the alien vehicle… the aliens kept everything about…_us_…on a world map-like interface."

"…Go on." Germany urged.

"It just…it's something that struck me as odd. But… they grouped us according to tectonic plates."

"Tectonic plates?" Denmark questioned. "They didn't group us according to continents or something else?"

America shook his head. "They had each of the plates labeled, and then they listed the nations residing on the plate. It just seemed…weird…that they put so much emphasis on them."

"It seems like a more scientific way of categorizing us, than by continents alone." Germany reasoned. "I don't see anything wrong with it."

"I just wonder if…there's more to this." America admitted, throwing a cautious glance around the room. Many of the nations held questioning looks, others seemed nonplussed. "What I mean is… they're actively looking for us and gathering us up. What if they know some way of affecting our lands and people _through_ us?"

"Not possible." Prussia stated evenly. "That's been attempted more times that I can remember, and it's never done anything."

"Yeah, it's been tried before, but you have to admit, their technology is _ages_ ahead of our own. What if they found some way of…?"

America trailed off at the bored looks he got from around the room. Canada shifted uncomfortably in his seat beside his brother.

"An interesting observation, but I think you are putting too much thought into this." Germany admitted, keeping his voice neutral. "Now-"

"What, is it wrong to wonder why they did this?" America asked suddenly, raising his voice and rising to his feet. "Why are they here? What do they want? Why are they gathering us up? Maybe if we knew that then-"

"And what do you wish to do? We should just go up to the nearest alien patrol and ask this of them?" England retorted, his tone short and irritated.

America swallowed an indignant response. "If we know _that_, then maybe we can gain the upper hand, maybe we could try to reason with them or find a weakness or…or…"

The room fell silent, and America could feel their stares on him.

"America…" England started, his voice soft and holding a distant tone that was used on him when he was a mere colony. "You don't understand-"

"Don't start that bullshit with me." America spat defensively, heat pooling in his chest as an old, indignant anger filled him. "I understand the situation _just fine_."

"What England _means_ to say…" France started, his voice neutral. England shot a glare at him. "Is that we were attacked without warning. Thousands of nuclear explosions rendered us useless for years. And… sometimes one doesn't need a purpose to invade. It can be as simple as acquiring more land and resources, or as complex as gaining prestige… and sometimes… it is better to be ignorant to their plans."

America couldn't help but notice Germany staring at the map, old guilt pooling in his teal eyes.

Shaking his head, America swallowed the anger down his throat and mentally counted to ten. He felt the gap between him and the other nations, the nations who were hundreds of years older than him. The gap that often reared its head at the most inopportune moments.

"So we should just assume what their purposes are? Just assume that they don't know any better and not try to understand…"

A soothing hand touched his shoulder, and America knew it was his brother without looking.

"They attacked us unprovoked. They are systematically killing our people without reason or purpose." Russia stated, his tone matter of fact. "The time for understanding each other diplomatically and culturally is over. Now we must fight back and regain control of our planet at all costs."

_That's not what I __**meant**__._ America glared at Russia; the elder nation met his glare unflinchingly in return.

Instead of vocalizing his thoughts, America let his brother pull him back to the loveseat they shared. Canada settled in beside him and let his hand slide away from his shoulder. Discussion started up again, but America found himself unable to focus. Instead he glared at Russia and slowly found himself agreeing with him. They _were_ attacked unprovoked. They _are_ killing off our people without reason. The time for diplomacy was over, now they were fighting for their survival.

But America couldn't help but wonder _why_.

* * *

**Later That Night**

America stumbled into the bedroom and shut the door behind him, locking it. Directly after the meeting, he decided to take first watch with his brother, hoping to avoid the other nations. Denmark and Hungary replaced them, allowing America some much needed sleep. Making sure to put the safety on, America set the rifle on the floor, leaning it up against the wall and turned to the small twin bed. Russia lay sprawled on it, his tall body taking up most of the room as his feet hung off the edge.

A smile crept across his face, and America crossed the space and stared at the elder nation. His ashy-blonde hair stuck in every direction, his legs tangled in the sheets and body bare, save for the blue boxers and plain white undershirt.

_And he calls __**me**__ a bed hog?_

America unbuttoned his shirt, flinging it to the floor. His jeans quickly followed, and America shivered at the frigid winter air. Without electricity, larger homes were harder to keep warm, as only the area surrounding the fireplaces and stoves could be kept warm. Teeth chattering, America tore the blankets up and away, and slid into the bed. He nearly shrieked as his leg touched Russia's chilled skin.

America hissed through his chattered teeth and shied away from skin on skin contact.

Russia groaned and shifted, his eyelids peeling open. He hummed and reached out for America, clamping a large hand around his arm and tugging him across the mattress.

"_Fuck_ you're cold." America tugged his arm away. "Your skin is like ice!"

Russia made a sound at the back of his throat, curled an arm around his waist and yanked him to his chest.

"Doo~n't…" America whined. "_Ivan-_"

"Nyet." Russia grumbled and buried his face into his hair. "Dorogoi."

A sudden pang of longing filled his chest, and America realized he was leaving in a week.

_Seven days…and I'll leave these shores. It could be months…years…before I see him again._

His chest grew tight, and America relaxed at Russia's cold touch. Sliding closer, America lifted a hand and brushed the tangled strands of hair from his face. Russia gazed back at him, his violet pools glazed with sleep.

"I guess…I just got used to…always having you here." America admitted, his cheeks growing pink. "I-…"

_It won't be the same with you gone._

"Shh…" Russia softly shushed him, and pressed their foreheads together. His eyelids slid closed and he exhaled. Their breaths lingered together a moment before dissipating.

"…Ayor Anosh'ni."*

The words tumbled from his mouth before he realized what he was saying.

Russia opened his eyes again and confusion broke through the sleep. He opened his mouth, but America pressed their lips together in a hurried kiss. Russia grunted in surprise, but quickly melted. America pulled away only to kissed him again, soft gasping breaths mingled before they met in another kiss. Finally America broke free to breathe, and Russia trailed velvet kisses over his jaw and down his neck, teasing the sensitive skin with a darting flash of tongue before smothering it in a kiss. Russia rolled over him, and America let his head fall back into the sheets. America ran his hands up Russia's back before encircling his neck. Russia lifted his face away and America mashed their lips together in a wet, open mouthed kiss.

They remained like this for a while, lips pressed together, tongues' rolling around each other, tangling and exploring every crevice of their mouths. America let his legs fall open and Russia snuggled in-between them, their obvious, bulging arousals pressing against each other. America gasped at the sudden pressure on his groin, breaking the lip lock and rolling his hips upward. Russia met the thrust with one of his own, and the two groaned at the sudden shock of pleasure. Their hips ground together, seeking release. Panting gasps and muffled groans sounded in the air until America wrapped his legs around Russia's waist.

Russia stilled suddenly, drawing an annoyed whimper from America.

"Nyet-….no…" Russia struggled with his English and pinned America with a steady stare. "We can't."

America could've punched him.

"Why not?" America questioned indignantly. "We've been wanting this-"

"I don't want to hurt you."

America stared at him. "But…"

"No." Russia ran his fingers through America's hair. "You're not…used to it…"

He frowned. "But we did it before."

"Once." Russia pressed their foreheads together. "I _do_ want to…but…I refuse to take the chance. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want you to…to go through what I went through…"

_What you went through..._ He thought of the layers of white, puckered scars surrounding the elder nation's neck. _Oh Ivan..._

America raised himself upward and gave Russia chaste kiss.

* * *

"Anything?"

England asked when America finished his patrol around the perimeter of the property.

"Nothing." America answered, his limbs shivering from the frigid night air. "It's too cold for any animals to be out."

England nodded curtly and awkwardly patted the empty spot beside him on the ground. "Care for some company?"

Cracking a smile, America took the invitation and sat down beside him. What was once a grassy field, kept up well by the former inhabitants of the large home the nations currently occupied, was now an overgrown meadow. Tall, waist-high grasses swept over the rolling landscape until it met with the spattering and grouping of trees at the edge of the property. The air was crisp and cold, each exhale visible as a puff of white vapor before instantly fading. The two sat in silence under the night sky until England spoke up once again.

"I should be celebrating the new year right now."

Surprise filled him. "…Is tonight new year's eve?"

England nodded, tilting his head back to peer into the starry sky.

"You usually celebrate with your brothers, right?"

"I would open all the doors, and have Wales walk into my home on the new year with gifts of coal, bread or money."*

"For good luck, right?"

"Mmm." England agreed and cracked a wistful smile. "Then on new year's day, we meet at Scotland's house for celebrations."

"Like…a family reunion?" America smiled and remembered the New Year's celebrations his states all loved to throw. Food and alcohol, dancing, fireworks and get-together's… traveling through the ruins of towns and cities, sneaking and hiding, always worrying of the alien threat, always wondering if he could make through the next day. Anger welled up within his chest, and America focused on the crescent moon.

"We'll defeat them." England's voice rang softly, firmly in the night air. "This is our world. Our home… my home. I have not survived for a thousand years to be killed off by some alien invasion." England's voice shook with fury. "None of us have. We are all allies now… we will fight to survive, and we will win this war."

"How?" America stared at the stars, watching flickering lights ranging from red and green to blue and orange streak across the sky. "We're using technology from over a hundred years ago. Two hundred even. The aliens are…_ages_ ahead of us. They have over twenty ships in orbit around our planet…"

"An invasion of this magnitude should not take this long to complete." England explained, his voice unwavering. "The aliens are growing desperate in their tactics."

"But…but _why_?"

England sighed and turned away.

"What?" America gaped at him. "Is it wrong to wonder? Why did they come here? Why did they attack our planet? There has to be _some_ reason why their doing this, Arthur-"

"Get down!" England shoved him to the ground as a burst of enemy fired exploded from the trees.

Green tracer rounds filled the air above them, bullets whistling through the grasses. America twisted onto his belly and pulled his rifle out.

"Northeast, near the road!" America shouted over the ear-piercing shock of gunfire while reloading his rifle.

England crawled behind a rock, trying to find cover from the merciless, unending stream of explosions. America crawled towards him, trying to join him when a round sphere landed a mere foot away. Red lights blinked at him from the object before America registered what it was.

"Grenade-!"

His vision flashed white, all sounds of the firefight fell away into a high-pitching ringing that echoed in his head. Warm liquid ran from his ears and trailed down his neck. The grasses moved and swayed, aliens filled his vision. They opened their puckered, toothy mouths, lips curling and eyes narrowing in screeching disgust. America fumbled with the magnum's resting at his waist, tore the gun from its holster, aimed it at the closest screeching alien and pulled the trigger. The gun jolted in his hands, but the high-pitched mini-explosion sounded on deaf, ringing ears.

The aliens tore the gun away and slammed the butt of their rifles into his head.

* * *

A screech sounded, followed by a heavy _thud_.

America opened his eyes and found his vision blissfully free of white and black splotches. The ringing in his ears was gone, leaving behind a painful throbbing. Aliens filled his vision and the room he was in suddenly jolted forward. In the center of the room was a similar device that Tony and him had run across. A glassless display floated in the air above a round console. A keyboard shown on the black metallic surface of the consol.

America closed his eyes for a moment, willing away the dizzying throb that was settling behind his eyes and refocused on the room. His arms, wrists, legs and ankles were chained and cuffed, keeping him stationary and sitting on a bench. Across the room sat England, similarly chained and cuffed.

_Shit._ America tested the strength of the cuffs and chains, and found them to be much stronger than he expected. _It'll take more of my strength than normal to break these… if I try to now they'll shoot me before I even get them off._

He sat up abruptly, and suddenly found three gun barrels aimed at his face.

"Don't make any sudden movements." England exclaimed from across the room. "Or they'll shoot you on the spot."

America pressed his back into the wall and twisted his hands in the cuffs to regain blood flow to his fingers. "All I did was sit up though…" He muttered, aiming a glare at the aliens who slowly pulled their guns away from him. "Only an untrained trigger happy _moron_ would do that."

That earned him a punch across the face.

_At least I know they can understand English now._

Sitting up again, moving slower now to keep the dizzying throbbing sensation in his head from getting any stronger, he moved his eyes around the room before settling on an alien who appeared to be the highest ranking soldier out of the others.

"Where are you taking us?" America demanded. "What do you want?"

England shifted his arms and glared at the alien.

The alien made no motion to respond and continued to ignore him.

"I know you can understand me." America growled. "Where the _fuck_ are you taking us?"

The high ranked alien made a motion with his three fingered hand and a seamless door opened suddenly in the wall. The cockpit of sorts was revealed, and it looked as if they were driving on the ground instead of flying.

_Good. That gives us a better chance of escaping._

A human male suddenly exited the passenger's seat and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

"You're the one…" England glared at him, anger showing clearly in his evergreen gaze. "…the agent…the one who tipped them off…"

America glanced to England, then back to the human male. He was skin was a sickly pale, with brown hair and tattered clothes.

_An agent…like the one on the train…_

The man glanced to the alien in commanded, who nodded jerkily and stepped aside. The man stepped forward and glanced at England before turning to America.

"We are… taking you to the others." The man spoke with a heavy German accent, and appeared to be struggling with the English, almost as if he never spoke it before when he was _alive_.

"The others? You mean those that were _captured_?" England accused, his tone dripping acid.

"Ja…the prison." The man lapsed between German and English, pausing a moment before continuing. "You will join them. You won't escape."

_...Must be a maximum security prison of sorts...but where-…wait. They're talking to us now… with them using this dead German man, that must mean the aliens can't mimic our speech… and if their talking, then now is the best time to see if they'll answer some questions._

America forced himself to calm down, breathing deeply before turning to the dead human.

"Why are you doing this?"

The man stared at him, a crease forming between his eyebrows. "Why capture you?" The man's tone was incredulous. "...We are enemies. You are…nations…are you not?"

"No. Not that-"

"What are you _doing_?" England hissed.

America ignored his elder brother and focused on the dead human. _I have to try… now is the best time to do it!_

"Why did you want _us_? Why did you invade? What do you _want_ from us?"

The human stared at him a long moment before turning to the alien in charge. The alien shifted its beady gaze to America, then to England before turning back to the dead human, waving its bony hand at him.

"You are…the nations are…the embodiment…of a mass of land and the people which…live on it." The man stepped forward and withdrew a knife from a sheath at his waist. America stared at it nervously before turning his gaze back to the man. "Your blood holds your age and history… it is…your essence…in a way." The man pressed a finger on the flat, illuminated keyboard. The floating screen changed and morphed into a timeline that stretched from the current year, 2014, to the 6th century BC. Above the year 600 was the beginning of a green line with the name _Albion_.

"Albion-?" America paused at the choked gasp from England. "Arthur…?"

_Arthur is…Albion? Is that an old name of his?_ America stared at the timeline. _6th century BC… is that when he was born…or… appeared?_

"How do you know this?" America demanded. "How-?"

"The blood." The man answered. "We have the technology to extract information from your blood."

America glanced to England, who slowly turning a deathly pale. "What…information can you extract?" America asked, and idly wondered if he really wanted to know. "Not…just our age?"

"Your age, when you were at your most powerful and vice versa, times of civil conflict and world strife…military buildup…"

"All of that…from our _blood_?"

America couldn't help but be impressed by the technology they possessed.

The man pulled his knife and slashed it at America's shoulder.

"Ah!" America hissed at the sudden attack, wincing in pain.

The man peered at the knife, which was stained with a streak of his blood. Slowly, he pulled a white cloth from his pocket and swiped the blade across it. Pulling the cloth away, he sheathed the knife and pressed the cloth to a circular opening on the consol. The blood was extracted from the cloth and absorbed into the machine. The screen morphed and changed, until a second green line slowly faded from translucent to solid at 1513. The immense gap between England's _birth_, and America's _birth_, put the distance between their ages in plain view for the first time.*

America couldn't help but feel incredibly young at the sight of the timeline.

"1513…?" England questioned suddenly, but held his tongue.

"Ponce de León…" The name spilled from America's lips before he could help it. England glanced to him, his large eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

The alien typing away at the keyboard suddenly grunted, and a third green line appeared directly above America's, only it began far earlier than America's age. "You have a twin too?" The dead human stated, rather than asked. "Just like northern Italy…"

_Canada… you always insisted you were the older twin._ America couldn't help the twitch at the corner of his mouth. _But… the fact that they can get your information through my blood proves we're twins…that we're blood related…at least._

The aliens typed steadily, logging the information away. The human put the clean rag back into his pocket.

"You never answered my questions though." America asked. "You couldn't want us just for our blood. You couldn't have invaded _just for that reason_." _I'm not getting anywhere like this…maybe…?_ "Why did you group us together using the tectonic plates?"

The dead human's eyes widened, and the alien in charge surged forward, screeching in surprise.

"How did you find that out?"

"Tell me why you did it and I'll tell you how." America stated in his most convincing voice.

_As if I'll tell you fuckers anything._

The human man regarded him for a moment before pushing the alien in charge back.

"He cannot escape from those cuffs and chains…and the others cannot help." The dead human reassured the aliens. "There is no harm in telling him."

The alien in command grunted, reluctantly agreeing and fled the room, entering the passenger seat beside the driver before shutting the door behind him.

"Our planet was destroyed by our sun a thousand years ago." The human male explained. "We originally tried finding an uninhabited planet to colonize, but slowly discovered every planet that held the perfect conditions were already inhabited by a dominate, civilized species. Our people were starving and slowly dying off… so we decided to use our superior technology to invade and take the planet for our own. The other civilization retaliated by destroying their planets habitable land, forcing us to remain on our ships. Learning from our mistakes, the next planet we discovered, we destroyed all major population centers, and invaded the planet. However, instead of colonizing the planet, we remained on our ships, and sucked the world dry of its resources. The land masses, the tectonic plates remaining were used to form a new fleet of intergalactic ships… and the largest nations of those land masses were transformed into one of our _own_."

America gaped open mouthed and felt his stomach bottom out at the realization.

"Once we defeat your people, we will drain your world of its precious metals, water, plant and animal life, breathable air…rendering it nothing but a chunk of rock. Those people remaining will be enslaved or die, and the largest nations of your world will become one of our own… your land and people absorbed, turning you into one of our intergalactic ships. Our people will grow and remain strong, thanks to your planet."

America stared at him, horror filling him to the brim.

"Unfortunately, only one nation on your planet is large enough to survive the process of becoming one of our own." The human male continued. "I'm sure you know who he is…considering we often see him with you."

_Russia._ America sucked in a choked gasp, blood draining from his face. _They're going to turn Russia into…one of them? Brainwash him and…no. __**No**__. That won't happen… Russia's strong…he'll never let them change him. __**Never**__._

"No one can fight it." The human male stated. "Their fate is absolute. It will be only a matter of time before it happens."

America clenched his fists and glowered at the dead human.

_Not if I can help it._

The human male then picked up one of America's confiscated magnums and chambered a round. "But now that we have your blood and his secrets, we no longer need you two."

America gaped at him, and turned to England who looked equally surprised.

"Wait- what the hell do you mean, _secrets_?" England's surprised look quickly fell into anger. "I haven't told you _anything_!"

"You didn't need too." The man stated, his face emotionless. "The extra blood we extracted from you is enough to reveal your secrets."

"…_What_?" America exclaimed and turned an incredulous stare to England. "What secrets? You mean… military secrets? Where people are hiding? Arthur?"

_If they're able to get that from our blood…than they can find out where my people are hiding…where their military forces are…where my hidden and secret military bases are…__**fuck**__._

England shook his head in denial. "That's impossible… how… how can you…just from our blood…?"

"The more blood we have, the more information we can extract." The man raised the gun barrel to England's head. "We no longer need you alive anymore."

"No!" America shouted and jumped upward, only to have three aliens slam him back to the bench. "If you kill him…I swear to god-"

"You swear what?" The man sneered. "You think you can do anything in those chains?"

America clenched his fists, his shoulders quivering in anger.

"When will you _animals_ realize that your fate is absolute? We are your future. Surrender to us."

"Surrender?" England spat, ignoring the gun aimed at his face. "I will _never_ surrender and _neither_ will the others. We'll fight until we _cannot fight anymore_."

The man turned back to England, his eyes glazed over with a pale white film. He stepped forward and pressed the barrel to England's forehead.

"Then die."

* * *

The next five seconds were a blur of action. One moment, America sat pinned to the wall. In the next, he snapped his cuffs and chains with a grunt, grabbed the dead man by the throat, tore the gun from his hand and pressed the barrel to his right temple. Screeching filled the room; aliens aimed their guns at him, hissing and waving their rifles in the air. America stepped backwards, pressed his back into the wall and dug his fingers into the dead man's neck.

"Unlock England's cuffs and chains or else I'll kill him! Understand!" America shouted over the screeching and pulled back the hammer on his magnum, chambering a round.

The alien in charge came in and everyone fell silent at the wave of his boney hand. He pointed to England and made a motion with his hands.

America glared at him. "Yes. Unlock his cuffs and chains."

The leader shook his head.

America twisted the gun around and fired a shot directly into the human males shoulder. The dead man grunted, but made no other sounds or movements from the pain. Blood oozed from the wound, dribbling down his chest where the bullet exited and embedded itself into the wall

"Do it!" America growled, his voice reaching a tone of angry desperation not heard since the embroiled cold war. "Or else next time, I won't _fucking_ miss."

The alien in charge hissed in anger, its eyes narrowing.

_That's right. They __**need**__ him. He's an agent who knows multiple languages…someone who can easily blend in with the people-_

Metallic pings suddenly ricocheted off the side of the vehicle, followed by a loud explosion that rocketed the room, throwing everyone to one side before the vehicle righted itself. America kept the dead man in his grip, clenching his fingers onto the magnum, digging the barrel of the gun into the man's temple. He pressed his back into the corner of the room, refusing to give up his hostage.

The alien in charged screeched an order to the other aliens, who reluctantly went to defend the vehicle from attack.

_The others came after us._ America kept his glowering metallic blue gaze on the alien leader. _If I could reach my other gun…I could kill everyone in this room in no time…_

Another explosion shook the vehicle, only this time it was a direct hit. The room jolted to the side, throwing everyone off their feet. America lost his grip on the dead man, who immediately scurried away and lunged for a rifle the aliens' dropped. America flung himself forward and tackled the dead man to the floor, accidentally hitting his head on the metal wall. The dead man threw an elbow to his gut, sending electric jolting pain up his spine.

Growling, America grabbed the man by his hair and smashed his head into the floor. A sickening crack followed with a spray of crimson. Screeching filled the room and the alien raised his rifle to him and pulled the trigger. America pulled the dead man over him and let him take the brunt of the attack.

Another explosion sounded, smoke and sunlight filled the air; the room twisted and turned on its axis, tossing everyone from the floor to the wall, then the ceiling and back to the floor. Blood and smoke filled his vision. America desperately wiped his face clean with his shaking hands before peering at them. The blood was green, leaving him sighing in relief before a body smashed into his side.

"You _fucking idiot_…" England growled, his dirt smudged, bruised face came into view. "You… I can't believe you…" England shook his head and fell forward, pressing his face into America's chest. "I thought they shot you again."

America gasped and looked around, finding most of the other aliens dead from the explosion. Extracting his arm from underneath the dead human man beside him, he snapped the cuffs and chains from England's limbs, freeing him.

"I guess…it's a good thing we're built stronger than them… huh?" America chuckled, his voice holding a hysterical undertone. He shook with unspent energy, the events of the last two minutes rolling through his mind at breakneck speed. "I need to make sure everyone's dead, England. I have too…it's just…like a thing of mine. You know? Ever since I was shot in the back in my civil war and-…well… Cause they could send out a distress signal and find us again and-"

England pressed his hands to America's face and stared at him.

"Calm down."

America shook his head. "I can't…England just let me up-"

"Alfred." England shifted and slowly sat up, leveling a calm green-eyed gaze at him. "You used your strength to kill someone. It's _okay_."

"No-…I…" America gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. "I didn't want too…He was human and he was German…I could tell he was… but…but he was dead and…and… oh god I took a hostage and I used my own strength to kill him." America grit his teeth together and saw memories of England lying unconscious, blood filling his mouth from the several broken ribs and collarbone America unintentionally inflicted upon him as a child. "I…I didn't even think and I-"*

"You didn't kill him, Alfred. He was _already dead_." England reassured as the doors to the vehicle were torn off.

Canada crawled in first, his face distraught with worry and fear. He took one look at his twin and fell to his knees beside his brother. Germany and Prussia tore off the other set of doors as Russia came in, shoving the alien's dead bodies away.

"What happened?" Russia asked, his voice breathless with confusion.

"He used his strength against a human agent." England replied.

"I _killed_ him with my bare hands." America insisted. "I'm sorry Germany…I…I didn't mean to but-"

"If he was an agent, than you did him a justice." Germany insisted, earning a nod of agreement from his elder brother. "He was no longer one of my own if they were controlling him. He was dead."

"You didn't _kill_ him." England growled and softly dug his fingers into America's cheeks. "You destroyed the transmitter in his body."

"I smashed his head into the floor. I felt it…it give way under my hands…my fingers…" America turned away and spread his arms out, instinctively reaching for the comfort of his twin. "Just get away from me…please. I don't want to hurt you."

"_America-_" England growled through clenched teeth, his patience paper thin. "I'm fed up with this complex of yours-!"

France clapped a hand on England's shoulder and drug him away before his anger got the better of him. Canada let America wrap his arms around his waist and bury his face into his belly. He carded his fingers through his hair, rubbing the pads of his fingers into his younger twins scalp comfortingly.

Russia peered at America, his violet gaze confused and curious all at once.

"A complex…?"

Canada nodded and silently mouthed _It started when he was a colony._

Russia hummed in understanding, silently hoping to get more information about it, and turned away. The black console stood in the center of the demolished room, looking relatively untouched. Realization dawned, and he turned to Germany and Prussia.

"We should take this computer for intelligence."

* * *

**Next Chapter: **_The nations attempt to hack into the alien network using the confiscated computer, Russia "comforts" America, who finally admits his true feelings for the elder nation._

_A/n:_ I hope the bit about the aliens and their reason for invading makes sense! If you have any questions/comments, just voice them and I'll try and help clear up any confusion. Thanks for reading and for all the lovely comments. It makes writing this worthwhile :)

Extra Notes (Once again, there's a lot of notes this time. Sorry for the length! I tried to keep the descriptions short D: Also, keep in mind that I am but an ignorant American, so if *any* of this is wrong, please don't hesitate to let me know, be it in a review or private message. I want to keep this story accurate [information wise, at least])

**1. The first number was 196, a line drawn over it, and the number 56 written atop the line.** - According to Wikipedia, the total number of countries/nations in the world is 196.

**2. "We've been using the Apennine Mountains to split the main invading force and keep them to the narrow coastline and valleys."** - The Apennine mountains is a range/chain of mountains that, more or less, runs down the center of Italy.

**3. " I can easily restart my ship building industry, but a steady supply of wood will be a problem, as I don't have the natural woodland as I once had in the past."** - [This came from a combination of online resources/websites] but from what I've read, England/Great Britian/etc once had thick forests within the island, but after hundreds of years they lost the forests to, essentially, supply and demand.

**4. "Put ads or spread by word of mouth for local people to watch over the farms at night. They would get paid a small sum according to how well a job they do and how long they do it, and in turn they spend that money…"** - I did some research and couldn't turn up anything about this, and to be honest, I actually got this from a game. Anyone play Red Dead Redemption?

**5. "It should still work."** - I just wanted to clarify that after spending an hour searching and reading on this topic, I came up with zilch on if it's still used today. So for the sake of this story, let's just assume it's still used :)

**6. "…Ayor Anosh'ni."** - I love you (In Navajo). [America might have said it, but it's my head canon that he's insecure about emotions and feeling and such.]

**7.** "**I would open all the doors, and have Wales walk into my home on the new year with gifts of coal, bread or money."** - [From ] "A very old custom of 'first footing' is still followed in Britain with sincerity. It is said that the first male visitor to the house on the New Year's day brings good luck. A blonde, a red-haired or a woman is not allowed to enter the house first as they are supposed to bring bad luck. The male visitor usually brings money, bread or coal as these are considered auspicious gifts. At some places, there is a tradition of gifting the holy mistletoe. It is believed to bring prosperity for the recipient. Another tradition which is popularly celebrated is the "burning of the bush". It symbolizes burning of all past events." I'm an ignorant American who usually blows things up on New Year 's Eve, so if this is wrong please let me know!

**8. The floating screen morphed into a timeline that stretched from the current year, 2014, to the 6th century BC. Above the year 600 was the beginning of a green line with the name **_**Albion**_**.** - From Wikipedia: "Albion (Greek: Ἀλβιών) is the oldest known name of the island of Great Britain. It is thought to derive from the White Cliffs of Dover. Today, it is still sometimes used poetically to refer to the country of England in particular. The early writer (6th century BC), whose periplus was translated by Avienus at the end of the 4th century AD (see Massaliote Periplus), does not use the name Britannia; instead he speaks of nesos 'Iernon kai 'Albionon: the islands of the Ierni and the Albiones."

**9. The screen twisted and changed, until a second green line started at 1513. The immense gap between England's **_**birth**_**, and America's **_**birth**_**, put the gap between their ages in plain view for the first time.** - [From wiki] "St. Augustine is a city in the northeast section of Florida. Founded in 1565 by Spanish explorer and admiral, Pedro Menéndez de Avilés, it is the oldest continuously occupied European-established city and port in the United States. The vicinity of St. Augustine was first explored in 1513 by Spanish explorer and governor of Puerto Rico, Ponce de Leon, who claimed the region for the Spanish crown."

**10. "… but…but he was dead and…and… oh god I took a hostage and I used my own strength to kill him." America grit his teeth together and saw memories of England lying unconscious, blood filling his mouth from the several broken ribs and collarbone America unintentionally inflicted upon him as a child. "I…I didn't even think and I-"** - This is sort of my own head canon here, so I hope no one minds :) Basically, I think that America had a hard time controlling his abnormal strength as a child, and that because of this, any emotional outburst or temper tantrum thrown by him might turn deadly, as he could unintentionally lose control of himself. Again, this is my head canon ^^;


	14. Chapter 14

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & _**mature themes**_.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

* * *

The confiscated console sat in the center of the room, the nation's surrounding it. America fiddled away at the back of it with Tony and Germany, studying the inside of it and how it might possibly work.

"It's the truth." England insisted after relaying what the aliens had planned for Earth. "The invaders want our planet for its resources, and will stop at nothing to have them. We should worry about those nations that have been captured or overrun, as the aliens might have already started collecting our resources."

"What were you saying about our blood? They can…extract information from it?" Denmark asked. "Just what _information_ are you talking about, exactly?"

"Everything…if they have enough of it." England crossed his arms over his chest. "When you were born, major population centers, low and high points in our history… military centers…everything."

Belgium stared at the floor, her face slowly growing pale while touching the crook of her arm.

"And...the tectonic plates…the largest nations…will be turned into a _ship_?" France questioned. "You mean one of the ships they have…in orbit?"

"Yes." England answered, his tone halting. "They said only the largest of us will…survive the process." England chanced a look to Russia, who was glaring holes into the floor. He quickly turned away and refocused on the other nations. "That…they will be absorbed, their people and culture…into their own."

America tuned out the rest of the discussion. Anger broiled within him, clashing violently with his distraught sadness from the previous incident with his strength. He breathed in deeply and focused on the console before him.

_No. I can't think about that. I __**can't**__._

"Here." Tony pointed to a black square box welded to the bottom corner of the console. "The power supply. Should still have plenty of power remaining to turn it on."

"Will they be able to trace it to our location?" Germany asked, not wanting to risk their new hiding spot they moved too after the attack.

"The chances of them successfully tracing this is under 40.2%." Tony stated. "The odds of successfully hacking into the network exceed 85%."

"I say turn it on." America turned to Germany. "You?"

Germany stared at the console, frowning in concentration. After a moment, he nodded in agreement, his eyes cautious.

America turned back to the console, reached into the device, reconnected the severed wires to the power supply and jumped back at the flash of sparks before the floating, glassless screen flickered to life above the console.

The discussion quieted at the sight of the screen. Tony jumped up and tapped a finger to the black metal. The keyboard appeared, its flat surface illuminated by neon orange light. Taking a moment to stretch his fingers, Tony set to work on hacking the network. His fingers flew across the keys, his eyes narrowing in concentration. Lines of codes flew by at a rapid pace, all in the strange alien symbols. Minutes passed before he heaved a sigh of irritation.

"They have multiple firewalls up." Tony glared at the screen, taking a moment to relax before getting back to work. "I've broken through 8 of them so far."

"Eight? _Eight_?" America asked, his voice incredulous. "How many more are there total?"

"Don't know." Tony shrugged, and returned to typing. Minutes passed before he took his fingers from the keyboard once more. "This will take a long time. Letting me work on this alone will produce better results."

England delicately raised one large eyebrow in irritation. "Why don't you just ask us to leave instead of saying it like that?"

Tony slowly turned his head to England, his eyes narrowed. Seconds passed, and he returned to the screen and keyboard, his fingers flying over the keys.

"Fucking limey."

"Ah- Hey!" England growled.

France stood up and pulled England away, unable to help the wry smile that spread across his face as they retreated to their room. The others followed suit, returning to their respective bedrooms for much needed sleep. America remained planted beside Tony, staring at the lines of alien code.

"Al?"

America knew it was his brother without looking. Just by the tone of his voice, he understood Canada's question over sleep, worry over his slight mental breakdown…_fingers crushing the skull into the floor, the bone and muscle tissue giving way, brittle as melting ice under his uncontrolled strength-_

A hand clenched his shoulder.

"Ak'ei?"

America forced a smile to his face and turned to meet Canada's worried gaze.

"I'm fine." America's voice was unwavering and strong. "Mattie- you're tired. Go get some sleep."

It was more of a demand than a request.

Canada sighed, seeing through America's act. He kept silent, as he did during the hundreds of times in their long history together, and turned away.

"Good night, Ak'ei."

* * *

One Day Later

America stared holes into the brick wall. The bubbly bathwater he'd spend three hours heating up in pots and dumping into the porcelain tub had long grown cold, but he remained submerged in the chilled water. His hands floated before him, palms facing upward, fingers spread. His insides felt twisted and torn, shredded and bruised. Pain throbbed in his chest, growing stronger every day. His legs ached, the muscles cramping and hurting.

_Something's happening back home. My southern states…._ America let his head fall back onto the lip of the porcelain tub. _Their fighting against the aliens…conditions must be worsening…if I'm feeling like this._

An exhausted sigh escaped, and he stared at the cracked ceiling. The door handle jiggled suddenly, and America sunk deeper into the water, only his head remaining above the surface.

"It's _taken_! How many times do I have to tell you guys, seriously?" America huffed, and curled his knees to his chest. "I'll stay in here as long as I want….considering I haven't had a bath like this in…." He paused a moment, counting up the months. "Six years? Yeah….something like that."

The door handle jiggled again, only this time the lock clicked open.

"Hey!" America shrunk into the other side of the tub, wishing to hide his scarred, bruised body.

Russia walked in, and shut the door behind him, locking it. Folding away a lock-picking set, he stuffed it into right pocket of his jacket and stepped into the room, crossing the distance between the door and the tub.

"I told you I want to be left _alone_." America frowned and wrapped his arms around his knees, pressing them into his chest. "Can't I at least have that?"

"You have been left alone for three and a half hours." Russia gripped the chair and drug it across the tile floor to the side of the tub before sitting down. Russia stared at him a long moment, and extracted himself from his old military coat, draping it over the back of the chair. "I decided you needed company."

"You _decided_?" Acid dripped from America's voice. "Well isn't it nice that you _decided_ for me."

_I could go for a Jack Daniels right about now…_

Tugging his gloves off, Russia stuffed them into the coat's pockets and dipped a finger into the water.

"The water is cold." Russia stated plainly, his violet eyes focused on America.

"Yeah. Thanks for telling me." America shifted under Russia's scrutinizing gaze. "Anything else I need to be reminded of?"

"You did the right thing."

America swallowed and turned away, unable to hold the intense violet stare any longer.

"If you did not do what you did…England would be dead."

"I know." America let his head fall to his knees. "I just…"

"Why are you so afraid of it?" Russia leaned closer, trying to catch America's sky-blue eyes. "Your talent… there are many who would give anything to have that strength."

"You don't understand." America clenched his fingers into fists and finally returned his eyes to Russia's face.

Russia pressed his forearms to the lip of the porcelain tub. A palpable silence stretched between them.

"It happened when I was young… I was playing with Arthur in the woods outside our home. I grew…excited at the playing and let my emotions take control and… I hurt him. Badly." America released a quivering sigh. "He was bedridden for weeks with broken ribs and bruised organs and… it was bad."

Russia stared at him, and America pressed his palms to his face. "It's only gotten worse as I've grown."

"Worse?" Russia parroted. "You mean your strength has grown?"

America turned away.

"Then…all of those times we argued and fought… our fist fights… you _held back_?" Russia stared at him, amazement filtering into his voice. "We were so angry at each other… and yet…you still…"

His chest tightened at Russia's words and he felt himself caught in a lie.

"I…It wouldn't have been good for…diplomacy. Our bosses-"

"Ahh. Diplomacy."

America couldn't help but detect the hint of disappointment in Russia's voice.

"That's right. I couldn't hurt you because of diplomacy…" _…Because even then…I still loved you._

Russia leaned away, the curiosity falling away from his violet gaze. America started, turning towards him for the first time since Russia entered the room.

"Ivan-…about the aliens and their plans-"

"It won't happen."

America stared at him. Russia's face grew hard, his eyes turning cold as steel.

"It won't." Russia stated plainly. "I won't let it happen."

America bit his lip. "And…what if…they're able to capture you?' His chest tightened at the thought. "What if they turn you…into…one of them?"

"Do you know what I did…when France tried to take Moscow from me?" Russia asked suddenly, his eyes growing distant.

America fell silent as he wracked his brain for the answer. "Ah…1812 right?"

_Not one of the best periods of my lifetime…_

"Yes. 1812." Russia shifted in the uncomfortable chair. "Francis tried taking it from me… so I abandoned it…and burned it to the ground."*

America stared at him, unable to say anything.

"If the aliens try to take me…and general winter cannot defeat them…then I will do the same." Russia's face turned hard and determined. "I'll burn everything away…with a click of a button."

"You'll kill yourself?" America gasped, choking on the words. "You'd just…end it all?"

"And if I am unable to do it…if it is too late…then I want you to do it for me."

"Me?" America sat up and gripped Russia's hands into his own. "Ivan-…you can't ask me to do that."

"I would do it for you…if you asked."

"Don't _say_ shit like that!" America shoved away and pressed himself into the opposite side of the tub. "We spent half a century threatening to do that to each other already-"

"This is different."

"No, _no_. I won't do it. I **can't**." America crossed his arms over his chest, the cold, bubbly water splashing and frothing. "There's always hope of a rescue."

"Rescue?" Russia questioned, the hardness falling away, leaving behind a soft, inquiring gaze. "Even if they take me into orbit…on their ships?"

"Even if you were in orbit." America swallowed and damned the beginnings of a blush spreading across his cheeks. "I'd find a way to get to you…and save you."

"But…with our technology…"

"It would be hard, it'd be difficult, but… god _damnit_ I would **find** a way up there and get you out." America's voice shook with conviction. "I don't know how you can just say you'll press the button so easily… there's always hope. _Always_."

Russia gazed at him, his eyes slowly narrowing in confusion.

"…Why?"

America let his eyes fall to the bathwater.

"Why would you…go through so much?" Russia questioned. "When it would be so easy to pull the trigger?"

"I…" America felt his throat run dry. "Because…"

_…Because I've loved you since the 1880s and I'd do anything to keep those fucking shit-heads from capturing you and turning you into one of __**them**__._

"Ayor anosh'ni." America forced the words from his mouth, but instead of English they tumbled out in Navajo. "Ayor…anosh'ni."

Russia frowned at the unfamiliar words. "What language is that?"

"It's…it's Navajo." America dug his fingernails into his palms and felt his cheeks heating up. "It was…one of the dozens of languages I spoke before England taught me his…"

"And…those words…you've said them before." Russia leaned forward, his lips curling upward, curiosity filtering back into his brilliant violet stare. "What do they mean…horoshij moj?"*

America leaned away and tried preventing any more of his blood from flooding cheeks. "I…It means that…that…"

His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, and America couldn't help but feel his youth in comparison to the maturity Russia was showing. Seeming unable to use his vocal chords any longer, America leaned forward and pressed his right palm to Russia's chest.

"Ayor…anosh'ni." America repeated, and spread his fingers.

Russia followed the length of America's arm and stared at the hand pressing against his chest.

"I love you." America finally whispered, forcing the words past his lips. "That's why I could never hurt you…never..pull the trigger." Now that the barrier between them was broken, words tumbled from his lips. "Never. I'd never do it…because…"

Heaving a gasp at the sudden weight lifted off his shoulders, he dug his fingers into Russia's chest.

"Ayor anosh'ni."

Russia stared at America's arm that stretched between them, his fingers pressing into his chest. The muscles of his throat worked, his eyes narrowed in bewildered confusion.

"Say something?" America blurted, the embarrassed heat of his cheeks giving way to fear.

Russia breathed, and raised his head to meet America's questioning gaze.

"…When?"

"When?" America pulled away, put off by the sudden question. "I…well…a long time."

Russia's eyebrows rose. "…A long time?"

"A _long_ time." America repeated, feeling almost silly at the back and forth exchange. "Since…" A new wave of heat washed over him. "…the 1880s."

"The 1880s?" Russia asked, breathless.

America sat shivering in the tub, and suddenly realized just _how_ naked he was. Gooseflesh covered his arms and chest, and he shrank away from Russia.

"So long…" Russia gazed at him. "You never told me?"

America nearly laughed. "What? You expect me just to run up to you and tell you how much I love you? Especially during your revolution and the wars and-… I couldn't. I…"

Russia hummed, the corners of his mouth quirking upward into a shy smile. "I understand."

"You…_understand_?" America couldn't help but grow nervous. "I…this is-"

"No one has ever said those words to me…well… my sisters have but…" Russia faltered, his gaze falling to the floor. "I am… unfamiliar with such things- ah, feelings…but..."

Disappointment flooded America.

_He doesn't feel the same way. He…this was just a fling. Just something... to pass the time. I knew it…I shouldn't have-_

"I love you too." Russia exclaimed with a gasp, and looked surprised at his own words. "I don't know when it happened…but…" He gazed at America, noticing his shrinking form for the first time. Russia leaned against the lip of the tub and reached forward, curling his calloused fingers around the back of America's neck and pulling him close. "Успокойся…"*

A nervous breath of relief rushed past America's lips and he gripped the side of the tub to steady himself, to ground himself. His head swam with Russia's sudden declaration; his skin tingled hot, contrasting against the cold, bubbly bath water.

_Ivan loves me. __**Loves me**__._

"I…really?" America asked suddenly, his cheeks turning scarlet.

"…да." Russia rubbed his thumb across America's flushed cheek. "But…I am unfamiliar… Покажи мне, что это за чувство."

_Show me how it feels._

America reached up to touch Russia's arm that stretched between them. His skin was icy-hot, a _barely there_ flush appearing on his cheeks. He slid his fingers up his arm, his shoulder, delicately skipping his neck and cupping his face with his hands.

He tugged Russia's face to his own, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. Russia gripped the side of the tub for balance, sighing into the kiss. The two parted momentarily, their breaths mingling together before they met again, lips pressing together. America curled his arms around his shoulders and yanked him into the tub with him. Grunting in surprise, Russia fell into the water, his clothes turning dark and soaking wet, clinging to his body like a second skin. Parting with a gasp, Russia blinked owlishly at America.

America tightened his hold on him. "Don't go," America whispered, his voice on the verge of begging. "Stay here."

"In the water?" Russia gripped the lip of the tub behind America, his arms on either side of him to prop himself upward. "But-"

America kissed him again and again, peppering kisses down his jaw to his ear, darting his tongue along the shell of his ear and flicking the lobe, sucking the flesh past his teeth and rolling it over his tongue. Russia shuddered at the contact, sighing softly before tearing himself away and mashing their lips together in an open mouthed kiss. Ignoring the pain as his back was slammed into the porcelain wall of the tub, America only felt Russia's tongue trying to taste every crevice of his mouth as it rolled and tangled with his own. His hands fell from Russia's neck and grazed down his back only to slither under his shirt. Gradually the kisses grew slower, longer, the almost violent desire leaving them.

They remained like this for a while, kissing wetly and softly, unable to stop tasting each other until America curled his fingers into the waistband of Russia's now soaking pants.

He pulled away suddenly. "Wait-"

"Take off your pants." America requested breathlessly, and immediately tugged the button free. "Come on~"

Russia grabbed America's hands despite the obvious bulge at his crotch. "I don't want to hurt-"

"Take them off."

"But-"

America jerked his hands free and yanked the zipper down.

"Don't make me beg."

And his hands slid past Russia's boxers, sliding over his engorged length.

Russia gasped at the sudden contact. "_Alfred_-…"

America tugged his pants and underwear down to his knees, pausing momentarily before Russia helped slide his legs free. Tossing the soaking wet clothes to the tiled floor, America opened his legs and pulled Russia to him, darting his hand down to pet and squeeze at his arousal once more. A breathless sigh escaped Russia's lips, and he reached down to grip Alfred's hips and without warning, lifted him up and out of the water. America wrapped his legs around his waist and arms around his neck, startled by the sudden movement. Russia stepped out of the tub, crossing the slippery tiled floor to set America on the edge of the counter, inches away from the sink.

America uncrossed his legs and spread them, gasping as Russia brushed his arousal against America's. They met in a breathless kiss before Russia pulled away and raised three fingers to America's mouth. Darting his tongue out, America flicked it across them teasingly before sucking the three digits past his lips and into his mouth. A hand fisted America's length suddenly, and he moaned into the fingers, rolling his tongue between them and over the nails, sucking them into his mouth, playfully grazing his teeth across the calloused pads of his fingers. Gently pulling his fingers away, Russia pumped America's arousal once more, drawing out another breathless moan from the younger nation.

America met Russia in a chaste, albeit wet kiss. "It's okay," he panted, seeing the nervous glance Russia gave him. "I want this."

Their eyes locked, and Russia slid the first digit inside him. America breathed and grew still, gripping the edge of the counter with one hand and clutching Russia's broad right shoulder with the other. The elder nation carefully worked his finger inside him, pumping slowly and carefully. He squeezed America's length again and fisting his hand up the shaft only to draw it back down once more.

America moaned breathlessly and clenched Russia's shoulder. "Ahh~… keep going…"

They continued the slow pace, with Russia fisting America's arousal and pumping his fingers inside him. At the third finger, America felt a tendril of stinging pain, but ignored it.

_I want this. I've been wanting it for so long… I can handle a little pain. I'm not some porcelain doll or something._

After several minutes of stretching and preparing, Russia's fingers finally struck that spot that left America breathless.

"Ahh!" America gasped, but quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, forgetting the several other nations residing in the same house.

Russia's hand left America's length only to grasp his wrist, tugging his hand away from his mouth.

"Let them hear." Russia smoldered, brushing their lips together.

America shuddered, and gasped again as his fingers pressed against _that spot_ again. "I need you inside…" America rolled his hips, desperately wishing to get closer. "Please…"

Russia smirked and withdrew his fingers, drawing a gasp from America as the sudden emptiness. "Since _lyubimy_ asked so nicely…" He fisted his length, stepping closer and pressed the tip to America's entrance, pausing a moment before America pressed forward, forcing it inside him.

America made a breathy noise at the back of his throat and bit his lower lip. The pain was less than the first time they did this, but it was still there. Russia waited patiently for him to adjust before moving forward, inching himself in and waiting until he was seated inside him. Clenching his teeth together to help keep himself in control, Russia pressed both hands to America's hips, and started moving.

"Ahh.." Russia gasped at the tight heat encasing him, and forced himself to go slowly, despite the desire to pound America into the counter.

"Ivan… I'm not made of _glass_." America growled. "Just-"

Russia snapped his hips forward suddenly, causing America to cry out breathlessly. He wrapped his arms around Russia's neck and rolled his hips forward, causing him to strike that bundle of nerves for a third time.

"Ahh- _fuck_ right there _please_-"

America gasped, and clung to him as Russia twisted his hips in _just the right way_ to leave him gasping for air. Always striking that _one spot_ time and time again, meeting his thrusts, his vision blurring, his senses falling away to _touch_ and sounds, hearing Russia panting breathlessly into his ear, feeling his fingers digging into his hips, sure to leave a mark, but America didn't care. Let the him bruise his body, let him leave his mark, for it would only be a reminder of when Russia and him parted. Not knowing of when they'd see each other again. A stabbing pang of longing struck his chest, and America pressed his gasping, panting mouth to Russia's scarred neck. He pressed kisses to the abused, puckered skin, drawing his tongue across each bump and line.

Russia's breath caught, a low moan escaped him. Panting, he jerked his hips forward, slamming America into the countertop and reached for his straining arousal. Once squeeze was all it took to break him and America gasped, a strangled moan escaping his lips, spilling his essence across his abdomen.

Russia continued moving inside him, snapping his hips forward, driving himself in him until he broke down, growing tense and quiet, holding his breath before gasping seconds later. He leaned against the counter, letting America hold him in his arms.

America kept himself wrapped around him, panting into his neck, letting the warm afterglow take hold. Russia's hands finally pulled away from his hips, and went to America's back, caressing the sweat slicked skin for a moment before drawing away. America winced at the emptiness, but remained planted on the counter, not trusting his legs to work just yet. Russia nearly stumbled to the tub, picking up a soaking wet wash cloth and returned to him.

They met in a wet, open kiss and parted shortly as Russia cleaned him gently. After a moment, he threw the ruined cloth into the empty tub and turned back to America, their lips meeting again, their arms wrapping around each other. They kissed in the post-coital bliss, relishing the warm, pleasured feeling of release fill them as they kissed warmly, slowly, their tongues lazily moving against each other until they parted.

"Bed." Russia stated simply, pulling away to drain the tub and pick up his now cold, wet clothes.

America swallowed and slid off the counter, clutching the edge of it as his legs nearly gave way, a sharp pain emanating from his lower back. Drawing in a breath, he ignored the pain and stepped across the room, keeping the wince off his face as he slowly bent to pick up his dry clothes. The thought of dressing, walking twenty feet to his room, and then peeling his clothes off once more caused dread to fill him.

Frowning, he walked to the door, stark naked, and cracked it, peeking his head out to check if anyone was in the hall. Being late, the hallway was utterly empty. America turned to Russia, clothes in hand.

"I ain't getting dressed when we're only walking down the hall."

He turned around and left the bathroom, walking across the carpet and stepping into their room. Russia followed after him, bringing the single candle that lit up the bathroom and bringing it into the bedroom they shared. He shut the door, locking it, and set the candle on the dresser. America was already sprawled on the bed, his clothes flung across the floor, his glasses set delicately on the nightstand beside the bed. Russia draped his wet clothes over a chair and quickly joined him, wrapping his arms around him.

The moment he pressed a kiss to his temple, a sudden snore erupted from America's parted lips. Broken of the desire to lavish warm affection on him, Russia pulled away and found America already asleep. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the sight.

"Sleep well, малыш."

* * *

**Next Chapter: **_Tony finally breaks into the alien network; America and Canada get ready to leave with England for their journey back home._

_A/n:_ Haha god I hope this wasn't cheesy as hell –crawls into hole– I wanted to show how "young" America is with how "old" Russia is.

Extra Notes

"**Yes. 1812." Russia shifted in the uncomfortable chair. "Francis tried taking it from me… so I abandoned it…and burned it to the ground."** - [From Wiki] – "On September 14, 1812, Napoleon moved into the empty city that was stripped of all supplies by its governor, Feodor Rostopchin. Relying on classical rules of warfare aiming at capturing the enemy's capital (even though Saint Petersburg was the political capital at that time, Moscow was the spiritual capital of Russia), Napoleon had expected Tsar Alexander I to offer his capitulation at the Poklonnaya Hill, but the Russian command did not think of surrendering. As Napoleon prepared to enter Moscow he was surprised to have received no delegation from the city. At the approach of a victorious general, the civil authorities customarily presented themselves at the gates of the city with the keys to the city in an attempt to safeguard the population and their property. As nobody received Napoleon he sent his aides into the city, seeking out officials with whom the arrangements for the occupation could be made. When none could be found, it became clear that the Russians had left the city unconditionally. (…) After entering Moscow, the Grande Armée, unhappy with military conditions and no sign of victory, began looting what little remained within Moscow. Already the same evening, the first fires began to break out in the city, spreading and reemerging over the next few days. Moscow, comprised two thirds of wooden buildings at the time, burnt down almost completely (it was estimated that four-fifths of the city was destroyed), effectively depriving the French of shelter in the city. French historians assume that the fires were due to Russian sabotage."

(Russian Translations by silvensorrow LiveJournal)

**horoshij moj** - literally means "my good one", but used more to show warm feelings than to praise a person.

**Успокойся** – literally "calm down"

**Покажи мне, что это за чувство** - Show me how it feels.

**lyubimy** - (my) beloved (one) (the female form is "lyubimaja")

**малыш** - Little one


	15. Chapter 15

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

* * *

The ringing in his ears was back. His vision gone white. Muscles trembling, heat surrounding him, choking him. He opened his eyes and found the sun blinding, the cloudless sky impossibly blue and never-ending. Distance voices and sounds came slowly into focus. The world around him finally coming into view. The dead and dying surrounded him, shells exploding all around. He lay in a ditch, pain wracking his body. Picking up his hands, he found them covered in blood and dirt, mixing together to form a dark, gritty substance.

Clutching his bleeding belly, he sat up and forced himself to his feet. Destroyed buildings stood all around, wood splinters and concrete bits covering the ground. Using the building wall for support, he stumbled down the alleyway and into a building. People of importance stood over map, yelling and staring down at it in desperation. He followed their stares and found the map to be of _him_. Red marks covered his entire southern portion, stretching from Florida to California.

Another shell exploded outside, and America stumbled backward into the wall. A man clutching a rifle ran in and shouted at everyone.

"Leave! Just get out of here! There's too many of them!"

"We _can't_ leave!" Another man- no, teenager? - shouted back. "If they take this town then they'll have the valley!"

"What- what is going on?" America asked, and stumbled forward, nearly falling onto the table holding the map of _himself_.

The teenager turned around, a familiar sunburned face, dark blonde hair, wild blue eyes. His button down shirt was torn, the seams unraveling. His faded blue-jeans getting holes in the knees, and the cowboy boots he never left home without covering his feet.

"T-Texas…?" America asked, surprise filling him.

The other humans turned to him, questioning looks on their faces.

"Dad? Is that you?" Texas gasped and nearly ran to him, clutching his shoulders. "How-…shit… If it is you and you're projecting then… you have to understand. Thing's are _really_ bad down here!"*

"What? But-…I haven't felt anything-"

"The aliens have suddenly gotten _really_ aggressive!" Texas shouted over the explosions and gunfire from outside. "They've launched a major assault! Against me and the other southern states- just check it with the other countries in Europe, because they might be doing the same thing over there!"

"What about your brothers and sisters? What about Mexico and-"

"I haven't seen Maria for 16 months now…"* Texas explained, saying Mexico's name with familiarity. "But the others… thing's are getting bad. The gulf and the southern coastline are overrun and we haven't heard from any of the island nations for a long time. You have to get back here, Dad you-"

An explosion sounded in the room, wood splintered, the walls fell away and white filled his vision.

* * *

America awoke with a gasp. Pain wracked his body, striking at his chest and gut. Blood filled his mouth.

"Shit-" He sat up, his face twisting in pain. Upon opening his eyes, he found the bedroom he shared with Russia to be empty.

_Fuck… I haven't projected like that since my civil war…_

Forcing himself to stand, he pulled on a pair of boxers and a blue shirt to hide his nakedness, grasping his glasses and stepped out of the room and into the bathroom. Light filtered into the room from the window, and America stood before the sink. A bottle of water sat on the counter, beside it a fresh cloth. America braced himself against the counter and stared at himself in the mirror.

Despite his skin being tanned from all the traveling, his cheeks seemed paler than usual. Dark circles hung below his eyes despite getting a full night's rest. A fresh wave of pain washed over him, and he wilted against the sink, choking down a groan that threatened to escape. Gasping, he raised his fingers to his mouth and touched his teeth, his tongue. They came away covered in blood.

Panting softly, America twisted the cap to the plastic bottle off and raised it to his lips, filling his mouth with water and spitting it into the sink. The water was stained with blood, not pink but a dark red.

_Shit._

"Al?"

America nearly crushed the sink in his hands from surprise and turned to the doorway. Canada stood with his arms crossed over his chest. His hazel-purple eyes pierced into him.

"What's wrong?"

"I…" America turned away and stared into the porcelain sink. "I projected."

His brother stepped closer until they nearly touched. His arms fell away from his chest and he touched his shoulder.

"What happened?"

America told him everything he remembered of the dream. Canada stared at him, worry filtering into his gaze.

"I can't believe it's that bad. Things seemed to be going well…"

America nodded. "I…I actually felt good for a few months…I was _gaining_ weight, even…" He couldn't help the indignant tone in his voice. "But…Texas said the aliens have 'launched a major offensive'…I wonder if they're doing the same with Italy and the others?"

"Once Tony finishes with the alien computer, we'll check their mission reports and current status."

"Right-…hey Mattie, where is everyone?"

"Denmark and Belgium left early this morning, along with Italy and Hungary, to return home. France and England are out searching for food, and probably won't be back for hours knowing how much they'll _argue_," Canada couldn't help but add, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "…Russia and Germany have the morning patrol. Prussia is with Tony."

America nodded, and focused on the sink. A wave of dizziness flushed through him.

Canada grasped his shoulder in worry, as if sensing his brother's pain. "Hey…are you going to be okay?"

"Ah- yeah. I will."

America willed the pain and dizziness away and focused on his twin to plaster a smile across his face.

"Don't worry. I can handle it."

* * *

After pulling on a pair of ratty jeans, and running his fingers through his hair to tug the knots free, he exited the bathroom and stumbled down the long, carpeted hall to the living room, which was surprisingly empty, save for the alien computer console sitting in the center of the room with Tony sitting cross legged before it and Prussia sitting beside him, staring at some handwritten notes Tony prepared.

"…Did you sleep at _all_?" America asked Tony while collapsing into the couch cushions with a sigh. A fresh wave of pain sprang up from his lower back, causing him to wince suddenly.

_Fuck… Russia really did me in this time._ Warmth coiled in his gut. _But it's okay… it's a good pain._

"I broke through the firewalls, but now I must develop a type of proxy server to hide this console's identification code, as that is what the network is geared for. Once the necessary protection, hidden firewalls and ghosting programs are ready, I can continue my work on their written language. So far, I only have 42.634% of the written language decoded."

America blinked and tried taking it all in. "Ah…yeah." He rubbed at his temples, another yawn escaping him. "You should've slept, Tony."

"Too busy. With us leaving in two and a half days, I must finish this so we can leave it here with Germany and Prussia, as traveling with this will prove an unnecessary risk to it becoming detected by the invader's network."

"Once you understand the symbols, figuring their language out isn't very hard." Prussia stated simply as Canada walked in and sat beside his brother. "Plus I have to learn how to keep this thing running so I can show West after he's done with patrol."

America nodded, making a sound of acknowledgment at the back of his throat. "Once this thing is complete…will we be able to use this as a kind of… listening device? Like…use it to help gain the upper hand, get mission reports and other things like that off of it?" America asked Tony. "Will we be able to go through the network freely, without worry of them tracking it down?"

Tony nodded. "Once I get all the protections in place, that will be possible."

Prussia grinned. "Great. West and I can get information from this, and then put it out through the telegraph."

"We'll have to get our telegraph systems up and running again…if they haven't already done so." Canada remarked, referring to America's states and his own territories and provinces.

America nodded. "Yeah…"

_…Texas… please wait just a little longer. I know you can hold them off. You and the other southern states..._

Canada reached across and squeezed America's hand reassuringly. America, startled from his thoughts, smiled in thanks.

* * *

Later that Evening

"I _told_ you they're getting desperate." England grated, pointing his barbed voice at France. "With their level of technology, it should have taken them only weeks to claim our world, when now it has been what, 6 years now?"

"They are getting more aggressive, taking risks where normally they wouldn't take them." France scratched at his jawline where the beginnings of a beard were appearing. "But…that also means they will make more mistakes."

America stared at the world map floating in the glassless display above the console. Red, pulsating circles hovered over different areas of the world. One over Italy and the central portion of the Mediterranean. Another over the northern portion of the Arabian Peninsula. Another over southern China, eastern India and the Bay of Bengal. The last one hovered over Western Mexico, the gulf, and his southern states…including Texas.

_…Texas was right. They __**are**__ launching a major assault…_

"According to the mission reports-" Tony's fingers ran over the keyboard, bringing up a second floating screen with long, blocks of text. "-They want to gain control of these areas and use them as a staging ground for taking control of the northern hemisphere…basically." Tony slouched and rubbed his wrists. "There's also more information but it's locked away. Top Secret."

"I thought we could access everything through this?" Germany asked, pausing in his note-taking that would be later transcribed and sent out via telegraph.

"They have a second network for Top Secret information. I can start to hack into it, but the level of difficulty will mostly likely be ten times what I encountered for the regular network."

"Figures." America grumbled, taking a sip of water from the glass he clutched.

"So, after we take a look at our resources, we'll send aid to Italy and those in the Peninsula?" Prussia asked, turning his red eyed gaze to his younger brother.

Germany nodded, his teal eyes growing grim. Others held looks of similar agreement.

America stared at the water in his glass, the ripples spanning out across from the epicenter. A curl of dark color erupted and filled the glass. The room fell away, the voices fading into the distance. His legs felt submerged in water that was thick with life. A vision of green, trees covered with Spanish moss, birds and insects sounding. A shout erupted, and a woman appeared before him, submerged from the waist down in green swamp water. An alien stood before her, hissing and screeching, it shouldered its rifle and pulled out a blade of black ebony. The girl raised her long, old fashioned rifle to block the attack and swung around with a small hand ax, imbedding it into the aliens shoulder. Her long, dark brown hair swung behind her, her tattered clothes heavy with moisture and dirt. The alien screeched and raised its blade again, slamming it into her chest. The woman gasped and slammed the hand-ax to its neck, cleaving the aliens head from its shoulders.

"…Louisiana?"

Gasping, she turned around, clutching her bleeding chest.

"…Dad?" She panted, green alien blood soaking her clothes. "Is that you?"

"What are _doing_ out here?" He shook, anger filled him at the sight of her wounded. His hands clenched into shaking fists.

Sudden, stinging pain erupted in his right hand and tore him back to reality. Jumping up from the couch, he found the glass he'd been drinking out of minutes before, now shattered and embedded in his bleeding hand, water soaking his legs and the couch where he sat.

Everyone in the room stared at him in surprise.

Gasping, he tried forcing a calm look to his face. "I…I'll be right back."

He quickly fled the room and hurried down the hall to the bathroom, stood before the sink and started plucking the pieces of glass embedded in his palm. A cold sweat covered him as he trembled from the sudden out-of-body experience.

_Fuck I've __**never**__ been this bad before. It never happened when I was awake!_

"…Al?" His brother entered the room and shut the door behind him.

"I'm _fine_." America forced through clenched teeth. "I'm just-"

"You're being invaded." Canada stated simply. "I understand."

America stared at the sink, unable to meet his brother's eyes. The history of invasion between them being a sore topic, even after two hundred years.*

Canada stepped closer to him. "Are you going to be okay?"

America saw his question as a cover for _Are you going to have a meltdown? Are you going to act like you did during your civil war? Are you going to remain level headed? You won't let this go to your head and let your emotions run wild, will you?_ He plucked the final piece of glass from his palm when England opened the door and stepped in with a bucket of water. Shutting the door behind him, he walked behind him and set the bucket on the countertop next to his elbow.

Silence permeated the room until England broke it.

"How long are they lasting?"

America turned to him, confusion filling him. "Huh?"

"You're projections. How long?"

"Uhh…" His mind went blank. "Like… 40 seconds? It was under a minute."

"Ah." England nodded, saying nothing more of the incident, and stepped beside him, picking up a wooden ladle from the bucket. "Hold your hand out."

America swallowed, frowning at the treatment he was getting, as he felt he could take care of himself just fine, but let England baby him regardless and held his hand over the sink. England tipped the ladle, the cool water spilled across his palm, washing the blood away from the multitude of cuts, many small and shallow, some deep and wide. After washing the blood away, England pulled out a handkerchief from his back pocket and wrapped his hand, seemingly unworried about infection from not using soap to clean the wound.

America couldn't help but smile at the handkerchief. "You still keep an embroidered handkerchief with you?"

England frowned, tying the knot over his palm a little _too_ tight, and raised his face to glare at him. "Is there a problem?"

"No." America flexed his fingers, wincing at the stinging pain. "I…I'm glad."

England's thick eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline.

"It's just," America quickly explained. "I'm glad that this war and the invasion didn't turn you into something else…that it didn't… you know…change you."

"Ah…well." England cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm glad…you two are still the same as well."

Canada suddenly appeared beside either of them, and gathered them all into a hug. America quickly melted and smiled, joining in the group hug. England suddenly wrapped one arm around either of them and squeezed them to him affectionately… the very same hug he gave them when they were young and barely reached his knee. The twin colonies would sit on each leg England hug them affectionately to his chest. Now they were independent, grown up, and taller than him. But the warm, familial affection remained. Past offenses and grievances momentarily forgotten, they allowed themselves the rare moment.

England's hug grew tighter, and his fingers clenched the back of their shirts. He bowed his head and allowed a relieved, shuddering sigh to escape. The sound of water droplets striking the floor was painfully loud.

_I was so worried about you two_ and _I am relieved you two are alive and well_ was left unsaid.

Warmth coiled in his chest, and America smiled.

* * *

Snow fell on the meadow surrounding the home America and the others temporarily inhabited. The sky was a dark gray, the thick clouds hanging low in the sky. The air was silent and still, and only the sound of America's breathing was heard against the silence. Having agreed to leave tomorrow morning, America took the evening watch before Germany and Prussia took the night watches.

Bundling himself in his thin coat, America clenched his rifle and peered across the meadow.

"Dobryj vyechyer, Alfred."*

America twisted around and found Russia taking a seat beside him.

"You didn't have to come out here, you know." America shivered. "You should've stayed inside where it's warm."

"The cold does not bother me." Russia stated plainly. "You should already know this."

"I know but-"

Russia shifted closer and casually draped knit blanket across his shoulders. "Warm now?"

America shifted and pulled the blanket taut across his back and over his shoulder. "…You didn't have to do this."

"England insisted." Russia snapped the safety on his own rifle and placed it horizontally across his lap. "And I do not mind. You are leaving soon, and… it will be some time before we see each other again."

America wilted, the realization of possibly never seeing Russia again for years flashing through his mind. His chest tightened and he set his jaw, forcing his trembling shivers away.

"I…I wanted to give you something." _For you to remember me by._

America swallowed, heat filled his cheeks.

"You wish to give me something?" Russia turned to him, his violet gaze questioning. "Why?"

"Because…" _Damnit don't make me say it. It's too embarrassing!_ "I just want to. Okay?" Americas tone grew defensive. "Is something wrong with me wanting to give you something?"

"No." Russia's curious smile turned secretive and understanding all at once. "I enjoy receiving gifts from you."

"Ah- good." America turned away, hoping the blush on his cheeks could be explained away to the frigid cold. "Because I'm giving you something that…that's really important to me."

America pulled his left hand from his pocket and dug through the layers of coats and blankets, seconds passed before he pulled out one of his priceless 44 magnums. Wordlessly, he snapped the cylinder open, making sure it was fully loaded before snapping it back in place and handing it over to Russia, handle first. Russia stared at it for a long moment, and then turned his gaze to America.

"You're giving me_this_?" Russia asked, confusion filtering into his voice. "But-"

"This gun is really important to me." America stated firmly, his eyes growing hard. "So you'd better return it to me when we meet again, okay?"

Russia grew silent, and turned his gaze back to the gun. It was well used, but obviously taken care of. Scratches and wear on the handle signaled heavy use, but America cleaned it twice a day, once in the morning, and once in the evening after dinner.

"I cannot accept this." Russia stated firmly, and before America could protest, he reached into his heavy military jacket and pulled out his TT-30 handgun. "I would rather have…an exchange?"

America blinked at him, his lips parting in confusion for a moment before they cleared. "An…exchange?"

"And when we meet again, I expect you to return this." Russia's gaze turned hard. "I'm sure you have an idea how long I have had this at my side?"

"Yeah…the same goes with my 44 magnum."

They gazed at each other for a moment, a million unanswered questions lingering between them until America took Russia's TT-30, and Russia took America's 44 magnum. They examined their new side arms, checking the grip, holding it and testing the weight, trying to get used to the new guns so that they can use them without a second thought. After a moment, America holstered the TT-30 where his magnum used to be, and returned to clenching his rifle and trying not to shiver too badly.

"…I forgot how cold Germany can get in the winter." America mumbled, thinking back to the long winter's he spent in a hole during the last world war.

Russia made a sound at the back of his throat and put America's magnum away within his thick coat.

"You have never been able to tolerate the cold."

"Yeah well you've never tolerated the heat either." America responded indignantly. "Remember when you came with me to New York and it was over a hundred degrees?"

"In the cold, you can always put on more clothing, build a fire, and do many things to keep from freezing. But in the heat, you can only take off so many clothes, and then you risk the chance of burning." Russia tried explaining.

America sighed and remained silent with Russia following suit, neither wanting to acknowledge their parting in less than twelve hours. _I want to enjoy __**this**__… just sitting here with you, feeling your presence at my side. Because… who knows when we'll have something like this again?_

For the first time in America's _young_ life, the future wasn't mapped out. Always he had big plans for the future that would take years or decades to see them coming even close to finishing. But now, the future was dark and unknown. He looked forward to returning home, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what was going on. There was a constant painful throbbing in his legs since the night he dreamed and projected, worry filled him at the thought of his states getting hurt and possibly being captured.

Shoulder's wilting, America leaned to the side, crossing the small distance between them and rested his head on Russia's shoulder. Russia kept his eyes on sweeping the meadow, watching for any movement in the grasses or the trees, but reached around and rubbed America's back, a silent gesture symbolizing volumes, but answered the unspoken question America posed with his head on the elder nations shoulder.

_I'll miss you too.

* * *

_

Early June

America stood on the deck of an old, but recently restored Sloop.* Beside him was his brother and Tony, their bags and rifles hanging their shoulders. England's commanding voice could be heard shouting orders to the sailors, making sure the supplies were all put away in the lower decks and getting the ship ready to leave the docks. America hefted his own bag over his shoulder and turned to Canada.

"You think England's enjoying himself?"

"Are you kidding me?" Canada smiled and raised an eyebrow. "It's like he's in his element. He's been moping since we crossed the channel."

"Yeah, well…" America smirked and leaned in closer. "He was upset because it'll be more than a year before he see's Francis again-"

"_Alfred_!" England shouted from across the ship. "Get over here and help lift this!"

Canada shook his head. "You're in trouble now, he'll have you working until you've got blisters on your hands."

America frowned. "Yeah thanks. Put my stuff away?"

Canada nodded and took his belongings, hefting them over his free shoulder and walked below deck to the room they shared with Tony following.

"I want to be sure we are prepared for anything, so I'm bringing these cannons, just in case we encounter any alien ships." England stood beside the canons in question. "I'm unsure how effective they will be, but…better to be prepared, right?"

America nodded and lifted each cannon with ease, carrying them below deck to their rightful spots. After checking with England, he went to the room his shared with his twin, and found him still unpacking the essentials.

"So… you remember how long it took to cross the Atlantic by ship?"

"Around two months?"

Canada sat on the edge of his hammock and picked up his high-powered rifle. "I'm glad we're going back. I've been worried lately…"

America in his own hammock, sighing in relief at resting his aching legs.

"…me too."

* * *

Somewhere in South-Eastern China

An explosion rocketed the building, windows shattered all around. Wood splinters and blood sprayed from the epicenter of the blast. Smoke filled the room, the glow of a fire erupting at the far corner of the room. China raised his húdié shuāng dāo and using the smoke to conceal him, fled the boxes he used as cover, took three sprinting steps and swiftly, silently, sliced open the throats of all three aliens entering the room. They fell to the floor in a heap and China rifled through their pockets and gear before they wheezed their last breath, pocketing any grenades or other useful items he could find.

"_Hyong_!"* South Korea's voice called as he entered the room.* "Another wave is coming!"

"Fall back to our former position." China sheathed his knives and pulled his rifle from his shoulder, snapping the safety off. "At least until the reinforcements arrive."

"But what about-"

"I can't clear the way for you to return home with them massing at the town's gates." China peered out the door and checked the small street for any invaders. "You shouldn't have come regardless!"

"I couldn't trust the message in the hands of a human, and you know it!"

China ignored him and stepped out of the door way and into the street, crossing it to the other side and entering the alleyway. South Korea followed after him, clutching his rifle and looking out for any enemies. Explosions and balls of fire erupted from buildings in the distance, the odd hum of alien jet engines shrieking overhead.

China glanced skyward for a moment when he paused at the end of the alleyway, another large street before him. "Until we get our own air force into the air, fighting them will be a losing battle."

"Please don't say that, _hyong_." South Korea groaned. "We can hold them off, we just have to keep to closed in areas like this, large towns and cities that weren't entirely destroyed."

"I am only speaking the truth." China grit his teeth and checked the street. Finding it empty, he stepped out of the alleyway and waved to South Korea. "We can go down here to get out."

China clutched his rifle and strode forward, his eyes constantly checking and scanning the area around them for hidden enemies. South Korea followed behind him, holding his own loaded rifle. The two continued down the street with little worry until a building a block ahead exploded, sending wood and glass flying into the street. China crouched behind an abandoned car with South Korea, waiting for the material to stop raining down when aliens poured from the burning remains of the building. Looking around him, China found an open doorway behind, leading into a smaller, enclosed apartment building. Patting South Korea on the shoulder, China pointed to the doorway, raised his rifle and dashed inside, the other followed closely behind.

"We have to go through here and find another way out." China closed the door and rushed forward. "In a city this big they have to have holes in their offensive."

"But-"

A barely audible sobbing sound came from down the hall. China stepped forward, his movements cautious as he neared the room where the sound came from. He touched the door, pushing it open to reveal a small, barren apartment. In one corner was a young girl, late teens, crouched by the window. Her skin was pale, her long strawberry blonde hair dirty and tangled, her clothing, a simple blue dress, was torn and tattered.

"A foreigner?" China wondered. "A…she is one of Russia's children. Can you feel it?"

South Korea nodded. "But…why would she come down here? Wouldn't people head north to get away from the invasion?"

The girl peered at them, still crouched and trying to hide in the corner. China stared at her and felt the odd sensation of déjà vu pass through him.

"She doesn't speak any of my languages, obviously." China held his hand out and motioned for the girl to come. "And my Russian has never been very good.

" The girl peered at him for a moment before slowly rising to her feet. Taking a few cautious steps, she crossed the distance between them.

"Follow us." China stated, motioning with his hand again as he left the room. The group continued down the hall, making a sharp right turn before running to the back door. Peered through the tiny window, he glanced around outside and after a moment, grasped the door handle. "It's clear. Watch-"

"_Hyong_!"

An audible clear sounded and China spun in his heel. The girl had South Korea in her grasp, aiming a gun at his temple. His rifle lay discarded on the floor.

China stared at her, his body unmoving, his hands remaining on his own rifle. "What are you doing?"

"I am looking for a man." The girl straightened and pursed her lips. "A man who is not human."

"A man…who is not a human?"

"He is taller than the _others_. The cold winter does not harm him."

Chine kept the surprise rushing through him bottled away. His face remained unchanged, his eyes clear.

"I don't know." China stated truthfully. "How might I know when I'm busy fighting for my people, _agent_?"

The girl's eyes widened and she shoved South Korea away. She heaved a sigh, and her human likeliness melted away, revealing a dark-grey skinned alien in place. Its head was a seething mass of curling tentacles, stretching from its creased forehead back to its neck. Far different from the soldiers.

China tightened his grip on his gun, the alien agent raised its own weapon, aiming at China's head.

"You…" It's voice was wet and graveling, twisted and forced, almost as if it caused itself pain by speaking like a human. "…are not the one."

It lowered its gun and fled into a nearby apartment, disappearing from sight in seconds.

"What…how?" South Korea scrambled to his feet, rubbing his throat. "They're after Ivan? But why?"

China frowned as tension and grim surprise finally filled his face after keeping it tucked away.

"It is likely the other nations have discovered some intelligence, but due to our position and the sudden aggressive offensive their doing…it has left us unable to receive any telegraphs."

"But…Hyong, how was it able to make us _feel_ that it was Russian? I mean- it would have to use blood or a body or…_something_ for that connection to work, right?" South Korea raked a hand through his sweaty hair, his curl stubbornly refusing to straighten. "But if you think about it…it wasn't like the other agents! It was an actual alien, only it has some kind of… illusion or power or something that helped it assume the identity of a Russian-"

"Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna."*

"…What?"

"That is who the alien was _using_ as its **identity**." China slowly turned and fell back against the wall. "That was who the alien was using to fool us into feeling her…_origins_…as Russian."

"You…You're sure?" South Korea croaked.

"Positive." China sighed. "I met her once. She…she showed me her knitting. She was very good for being so…young."

South Korea grew silent for three seconds before realization struck him.

"They can perfectly impersonate humans now." South Korea gasped.

"We must get out of this city and send a messenger to Russia with this information. With the enemy on the offensive, they may be listening in the telegraph lines."

"We'll never know the difference." South Korea continued, worry filtering into his gaze. "We'll _feel_ that their alive and that…they're our _children_, or _citizens_. That thing could be standing right beside us and we wouldn't even know it."

"…And it's after Russia."

* * *

**Next Chapter: **_Tony reveals key information he found while hacking into the alien's network, the twins and England talk strategy, there's another time skip, and the focus shifts to Russia as he has a brief reunion with his sisters before journeying back to his homeland._

_A/n:_ I had *such* a hard time writing China and South Korea. I want to apologize if they are horribly out-of-character, as it's my first time ever writing them :( -nervous-

Extra Notes

**1.** "**How-…shit… If it is you and you're projecting then… you have to understand. Thing's are **_**really**_** bad down here!"** - Thought I'd comment on my head canon again regarding _projecting_. I'm not sure where I picked this up, if it's from another fanfic I read or what, but it just came to me when I was writing this. What if, during a time of national conflict, the nations had dreams/nightmares and had an almost kind of…out-of-body-experience where they suddenly entered one of their citizen's bodies that is at the center of the conflict? Like England during the blitz of World War 2, or Russia during the revolution or the famines of 1932 or 1921? (I hope my info is right, correct me if I'm wrong!) I hope this makes sense?

**2. Maria** - Mexico's human name. Got this by Googling the "10 most popular female baby names in Mexico"

**3. The history of invasion between them being a sore topic, even after two hundred years.** - [From Wiki] "**The Invasion of Canada in 1775** was the first major military initiative by the newly-formed Continental Army during the American Revolutionary War. The objective of the campaign was to gain military control of the British Province of Quebec, and convince the French-speaking Canadiens to join the revolution on the side of the Thirteen Colonies. One expedition left Fort Ticonderoga under Richard Montgomery, besieged and captured Fort St. Johns, and very nearly captured British General Guy Carleton when taking Montreal. The other expedition left Cambridge, Massachusetts under Benedict Arnold, and traveled with great difficulty through the wilderness of Maine to Quebec City. The two forces joined there, but were defeated at the Battle of Quebec in December 1775." (…) "(**The War of 1812**) American leaders assumed that Canada could be easily overrun. Former President Jefferson optimistically referred to the conquest of Canada as "a matter of marching." Many Loyalist Americans had migrated to Upper Canada after the Revolutionary War, and it was assumed they would favor the American cause, but they did not … In 1812–13, British military experience prevailed over inexperienced American commanders. Geography dictated that operations would take place in the west: principally around Lake Erie, near the Niagara River between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario, and near the Saint Lawrence River area and Lake Champlain … In contrast to the American militia, the Canadian militia performed well. French Canadians, who found the anti-Catholic stance of most of the United States troublesome, and United Empire Loyalists, who had fought for the Crown during the American Revolutionary War, strongly opposed the American invasion. However, many in Upper Canada were recent settlers from the United States who had no obvious loyalties to the Crown. Nevertheless, while there were some who sympathized with the invaders, the American forces found strong opposition from men loyal to the Empire." (There's really no easy way to summarize the war of 1812. Really sorry for the huge block of text!) But seriously, America was kind of an irritating upstart back then, wasn't he? :)

**4. Dobryj vyechyer** – Russian for Good evening. I'm not too sure about this, however, as silvensorrow has been busy and unable to translate for me ^^;

**5. America stood on the deck of an old, but recently restored Sloop** - "…ship type commonly used by pirates, had few guns, but a shallow draft, and was incredibly fast, great for negotiating shallow waterways, essential when running from pursuit. Jean Lafitte is known to have used these extensively. carried 20 guns on one gun deck." Taken from this website; It has a picture of it too = .com/page/Types+of+Ships

**6. húdié shuāng dāo** – Butterfly swords/knives. [Wiki] "The butterfly sword (simplified Chinese: 蝴蝶双刀; traditional Chinese: 蝴蝶雙刀; pinyin: húdié shuāng dāo) is a short dāo, or single-edged blade, originally from the South of China, though it has seen use in the North. The blade of a butterfly sword is roughly as long as a human forearm, which allows for easy concealment inside loose sleeves or boots, and allows greater maneuverability when spinning and rotating during close-quarters fighting. Butterfly swords are usually wielded in pairs."

**7. Hyong** – Korean for Big Brother (Unsure about this. Correct me if I'm wrong!)

**8. South Korea's voice called as he entered the room** - I decided to use "South Korea" instead of simply Korea, as this fic deals with some-what realistic stuff.

**9. Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna** - [Wiki] "Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia (Velikaya Knyazhna Anastasiya Nikolayevna Romanova), (Russian: Великая Княжна Анастасия Николаевна Романова) (June 18 [O.S. June 5] 1901 – July 17, 1918), was the youngest daughter of Tsar Nicholas II of Russia, the last sovereign of Imperial Russia, and his wife Alexandra Fyodorovna. Anastasia was a younger sister of Grand Duchess Olga, Grand Duchess Tatiana and Grand Duchess Maria, and was an elder sister of Alexei Nikolaevich, Tsarevich of Russia. She was murdered with her family on July 17, 1918 by forces of the Bolshevik secret police."


	16. Chapter 16

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Platonic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & mature themes.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

* * *

Early July

"…_What_?"

"I didn't tell you because you would have turned around and gone back to Germany." Tony glared at America and folded his arms across his chest. "I kept it from you for your own good. The states need you right now."

"Does Ludwig even _know_?" America nearly shouted while Canada entered the room, shutting the door behind him.

"What's going on?" Canada asked, worried at America's raised voice.

"I found information about a weakness the aliens have. But… I didn't tell Alfred." Tony peered at Canada for a moment before turning back to America. "He has all of my notes, including the details I discovered. Once he reads them, he'll understand."

"Then we have to tell Arthur." Canada started for the door and opened it again. "We'll talk more with him."

The three immediately headed for the captain's quarters, a large, but sparsely decorated room with three massive windows spread across the back. America barged into the room first, interrupting a conversation England was having with a few of the sailors.

"And when you-"

"We have to talk." America demanded, and turned to the three men England was talking to. "You three have to leave."

Canada quickly jutted in. "Sorry for barging in like this, but it's very important."

England frowned, obviously irritated at the rude interruption, but told the sailor's he'd meet with them later and once they left the room, turned to address the twins and Tony.

"What is it?" England asked after locking the door and moving back to the shabby, rickety desk pressed into the far corner. Frayed, yellowing maps lay across it, along with old fashioned navigation tools. "Is it about the invaders?"

Tony kept his arms crossed, still irritated at America's earlier outburst. "I found information that might lead to a weakness the aliens have."

England let this sink in and turned to face him, leaning back against the edge of his desk. "…Go on."

"While I was hacking into the invader's network, it became apparent that the network acts as a kind of collective consciousness. All vehicles, ships, equipment… everything runs off of the network and can be controlled remotely. This was one of the programs I had to rewrite, so that the computer Germany kept won't be traced and taken over by the invaders remotely. This network is what keeps the vast amount of ships in orbit and the invading forces on the planet synchronized. It can control anything and everything in any piece of equipment, large or small."

England peered at Tony, shifted and glanced at the twins. "…And…?"

"It's like a _hive mind_, Arthur. Like…like ants that use smell as a kind of signal to communicate and control the others actions." America stepped forward, motioning with his hands while explaining. "Get it? If we can somehow find out how to control the signal… then you have complete control over their actions."

Canada's mouth dropped open in surprise. "…A virus."

England dropped his hands to clench at the edge of the desk for support.

"So…what you're telling me… is that… **if** we find a way to take control of their network… then…we will have complete control of every vehicle and ship in their _fleet_?"

"Exactly!" America paced across the room with bubbling energy. "We could shut everything down if we wanted to! Turn everything into hunks of metal. Turn the environmental systems off on their ships in orbit and leave them without air…cause their engines to explode…anything! Everything is connected to the network and runs off of it."

"**If** we have the correct signal."

"Yes."

England pressed his lips together and stared at the floor for a long moment before turning to Tony.

"Be honest. Right now…can we make this work?"

"…No." Tony shifted and glanced around the room, looking almost uncomfortable. "Before the flash…you would have. But right now… only around .89% of the world has continuous power right now. 70% of that is power is being used by the invaders. Without electricity, we cannot power a signal."

"So after we deal with the low food levels, power is next."

"But after power, the signal must be strong enough to reach all across the globe and into the reaches of space to affect the enemy." Tony explained. "You cannot just go to a radio tower and turn the signal on, because that would only affect a small area."

"So we affect a small area. We can always work our way up to larger areas, and eventually cover the entire world and out into space, right?" Canada asked.

"No. The invader's will adapt and fix the network programming, thus rendering the signal useless. The central core in orbit could fix the problem in a matter of seconds." Tony sighed. "It's all or nothing."

"The entire planet **and** the ships in space… all at once?" England questioned, dismay finally filtering into his voice. "Not even the most advanced communication towers in the world can do that, let alone any that are left in actual _working condition_ from the first invasion. We'd have to use-…" England trailed off suddenly.

"…The satellites." Canada whispered. "They destroyed the satellites during the flash."

"Wait!" America turned to Tony. "The other satellites we sent out to the planets, couldn't we use them?"

"The possibility of those satellites still being there is…" Tony shook his head negatively. "They destroyed them." He stared at America. "And even if they didn't destroy them, the signal would not be strong enough."

"You don't know that." America grew defensive, as science and space exploration was a passion of his.* "Why would they destroy satellites only being used for scientific reasons? For exploring planets and taking pictures?"

"They are an aggressive, invasive species. Their entire culture centers on invading planets and taking its resources for their own purposes. They don't care for science unless it helps their own cause."

"We have to at least _try_." America growled. "They couldn't have destroyed them all. There's no reason… why would they do that?"

"Why would they destroy every major and minor city in the world? Why would they ruin the land and kill your people?" Tony glared at America, his arms falling to his sides, his body trembling in anger. "Why would they capture the nations and take your blood? Why would they want to turn you into one of their own? They are another species, another culture, another race vastly different from your own. They see this as the only way to ensure the survival of their race, just as you see the only way of survival by fighting back and keeping your land, your planet. They have every reason to be cautious, to be scared of this planet and the humans that inhabit it. You are a species that can adapt to almost any climate, a species that has an insufferable, albeit ingenious nature that will do anything to survive. So yes. There is every fucking reason for them to destroy those satellites."

America fell silent, glaring at Tony for a long, tense moment before he swallowed his anger and stepped away.

"Then how do we send the signal iwithout the satellites/i?" England asked, irritation filtering into his voice. "Why bring it up if can cannot implement it?"

"Because we can use my spaceship."

"You're _spaceship_?" England asked, his gaze turning skeptical. "But how?"

"My ship was designed for scouting and stealth."

"So spying, then."

"**Not** spying, fucking limey." Tony spat, growing angry at England's barbed comment. "My ship has the power to send the signal from orbit without being noticed, due to the stealth systems installed."

"You're ship was hidden on a military base, Tony." America stated evenly. "There's a chance that it could have been destroyed in the flash."

"Not possible." Tony shook his head. "The base was built during the cold war era. Built to withstand a nuclear blast."

Canada and England glanced at each other with questioning looks.

"We don't know if it's even still standing, or if it survived, the aliens might have taken over-"

"No!" Tony nearly shouted, startling everyone. "Nevada _promised_ me he'd keep it safe. I beat him at black jack and the deal was to keep it safe! He promised, pu pu!"

"Wait…**Nevada**?" Canada butted into the conversation suddenly, and turned to his twin. "…you're not talking about Area 51, are you?"

"Huh?" America's face grew blank. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh bollocks." England grumbled, rolling his eyes and turning away, collapsing into the chair beside his desk. "Not this again."

"Alfred." Canada growled, turning on his brother. "_Everyone_ knows about area 51! You can deny all you want but we know it exists!"

"But, it's really not what it seems-"

"I know you tested top secret air craft out there."

"…What?"

"I'm not stupid, Al!" Canada rolled his eyes and flung his hands in the air. "You're my twin brother! When you tell me you're going to be gone for three weeks, that you won't be in contact with any phones and trying to send you a letter will be impossible, it's _kind of _suspicious!"

"Pah…Kind of." England mumbled and rubbed his eyes with his palms and his temples with his fingers. An old habit he developed when the twins were his colonies, when he had to endure their occasional fights that often turned violent and ended up with him trying to break them apart.

"Really, Alfred." Canada exclaimed, his voice full of annoyance. "Even Russia knew about area 51."

"…He _what_?" America's voice squeaked. "He knew? He fucking _knew_?"

Canada suddenly shrank in posture, realizing he revealed something he shouldn't have.

"You've done it now, boy." England sighed and shook his head, rubbing his face with his hand.

"Hey-…how the fuck did you know this?" America turned on him, angry frustration filling him. "Who told you? Were you and Russia just….talking about me the entire time or something? How-?"

"…I'm dating his older sister, you idiot." Canada glared at him, his shrinking posture disappearing as he took a few bold steps forward. "And how _dare_ you imply that I was going behind your back in those decades! I can't believe you!"

"Well what am I supposed to believe when you tell me that!"

"I'm your _twin brother_, and we were allies! I never did anything like that! And to think you actually thought that just…just…" Canada shook with sudden frustrated anger, reared his fist back and slammed it across America's face.

America reeled backward from the blow, surprise flooding his face before it narrowed in sudden anger. He barreled forward, crashing into Canada and throwing them both to the floor in a twisting, wrestling, hitting and cursing heap.

England stared at them, a frown slowly growing on his face as Tony moved away to stand beside England's desk. He strummed his fingers on the desk before he gave in and jumped up, crossing the floor, grabbing both of them by the backs of their shirts and throwing them apart.

"Stop!" England demanded, his voice loud and commanding as he pulled his sword with its scabbard from his waistband and held it between them. "Right **now**."

Canada panted, but remained silent. America heaved a gasp and glared at England, refusing to listen to him.

"But Arthur he said-!"

"_Shut up_!" England growled, eyeing both of them with narrowed evergreen eyes. "This is idiotic, fighting over something in the past that you cannot do anything about now."

"…_you're_ one to talk." America spat. "You and France have been fighting over shit that happened hundreds of years ago for-"

"_Alfred_." England growled through clenched teeth. "Please."

America bit his tongue and glared at the floor. Canada smothered a grin, as he couldn't help but agree with his twin's comment.

"We cannot fight right now. We must remain united against the invaders." England glared at both of them. "Now apologize to each other."

"For _what_?' America cried out suddenly. "I-"

"_America_- if you don't stop **right now**-"

"Fine!" America shot him a glare and turned to his brother, his face softening instantly. "…Sorry."

Canada straightened and nodded, his eyes turning solemn. "I'm sorry for instigating."

"Good. All better now." England put his sword back at his waist and rubbed his temples. "Can't believe I had to do that again…last time I did that you were small enough to both sit on my lap…"

Tony shook his head, agreeing with England for the first time since they met.

"Fucking idiots."

* * *

Late July

"Vanya!"

Ukraine rushed out of Belarus's home and flung her arms around her younger brother. Russia returned the hug with a tiny smile, enjoying his sister's affection before pulling away. Ukraine smiled up at him, happy to see her brother again.

"Давно не виделись." Ukraine squeezed his hands that she grasped into her own before pulling away. "Ты здоров?"

Russia nodded. "Да."

Ukraine smiled again and pulled away. "Natasha's leg is nearly healed too. Come in, she'll be happy to see you. Oh! And…how was Matthew? Is it well?"

"Only for a short time." Russia explained. "I must get back to my people… if you understand. And Matthew was fine when he left for his home. You should not worry, America won't let anything happen to him."

"Yes, of course. I'm glad." Ukraine allowed, sighing in relief, and opened the door to let Russia inside. "Natasha? Vanya's here!"

Belarus stepped in, still holding a limp but healed enough to go without the cane. She smiled and hugged her elder brother warmly before pulling away.

"Tell us what happened when you got to Germany?"

Russia nodded shortly, closing the door behind him and taking a seat in the living room. He spent the next hour and half explaining the events that happened since he left his sister's. Lithuania came in the middle of the explanation, having left for the telegraph office earlier that morning to pick up the daily messages.

"So…they're after _you_?" Ukraine asked, surprise and dismay entering her voice. "But _why_?"

"Apparently… they want to capture me and convert me into '_one of their own'_…almost as if they wish to turn my land into a ship of their fleet, and convert my people to their cause, making them grow stronger."

"That's horrible." Lithuania exclaimed, horror filtering into his gaze.

"Never." Belarus stated with finality. "It will never happen. They can try to turn you but your will is too strong Vanya. They won't do it. They _can't_ do it."

Ukraine nodded, but still looked worried. "Still, Vanya, you must be careful. If they want to capture you so badly, then they will stop at nothing to get you."

"I know." Russia stood, picked up his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. "Their agents are easily recognizable."

The others stood up with him.

"You're leaving so soon?" Ukraine asked, unable to help as she straightened his scarf around his neck. "You can't stay?"

"Нет." Russia picked up his bag and slung it over his head and around his shoulders. "I must return to my people. There is much to be done."

"Where can we keep in contact with you?" Belarus asked. "If we must send information over telegraph."

"…Петербург."* Russia stated after a moment. "They did not use nuclear bombs on the city, and it is being rebuilt as we speak. And since Moscow is uninhabitable due to the fallout… it might be my new capitol. However, I am unsure, as it's up to my people to decide that."*

The others nodded in understanding.

"Travel safely, Vanya." Ukraine exclaimed while she walked him to the door. "You are traveling alone so… be careful?"

Russia stared at his sisters for a moment before stepping forward and gathering them into his arms. They wrapped their arms around him, obviously worried for their brother and his safety.

"I will be fine." Russia reassured. "You worry needlessly."

They nodded and pulled away.

"Anything I get from the west, I will pass along to you." Lithuania explained. "Just be careful."

Russia nodded, opened the door, and offered a wave goodbye before starting the long walk home.

* * *

Early August

Canada stood at the helm, steering the ship and navigating the cold, empty oceanic horizon. The sky was clear, the air crisp, the clouds glowed in the warm moonlight. His homeland was close, his waters closer still. He could feel it, a distance pulling, stretching sensation in his chest. Beside him stood Tony with an old-fashioned spyglass, made of brass and old glass lenses turning purple with age. He held it to his eye, stretching the spyglass to its full length and aiming it to the stars.

Canada glanced to him, a curious, questioning glaze settling in his eyes.

"Tony," He started, pausing a moment to collect himself before continuing on. "I've been wondering about something…"

The small alien said nothing and continued to search the sky while scribbling something onto the paper pad.

Canada glanced to him again, and frowned. "Why are you doing all of this?"

Tony finally halted in his writing, and pulling the spyglass from his face. "Doing what?"

"…_That_." Canada asked, nodding to the paper pad sitting on his thigh. "You're not human. You crash landed on our planet half a century ago… why are you so…so driven to help us beat _them_?"

He fell silent for a long moment, his eyes staring off in the distance, mulling over his response before picking up the paper pad off his thigh, snapped the spyglass shut and stood from his cross-legged position on the deck. Canada peered at him curiously but held his tongue, waiting for his response.

"A good question." Tony allowed, nodding to himself. "One that deserves an answer."

Canada raised an eyebrow. "…And?"

Tony stuffed the paper pad into the pocket of his jacket. "Just to set everything straight before I explain. I don't care if you tell anyone about what I'm about to say. I just don't want the invaders to know about it. Understand?"

Canada nodded silently.

"The invading force that is attacking your planet now is known throughout the entire galaxy as being 'planet hunters'. Over the last thousand years, their culture has slowly focused around hunting planets, like your own, and taking everything they have to offer. They are feared, and the civilizations that already know about them do everything in their power to hide themselves."

"…You _knew_ they wanted our planet for its resources?" Canada accused. "But…why didn't you tell us?"

"I had no proof." Tony stated simply.

Canada rolled this information around in his mind for a moment before continuing. "Okay. But… how did your people know about them? About what they do? Our technology may not be as advanced as your own civilizations, but…" Canada trailed off, and stared at Tony expectantly.

Tony clenched his small grey fingers around the spyglass for a moment, thinking silently before nodding to himself.

"Did Alfred tell you what the aliens said about where they come from? Their past at all?"

Canada nodded. "Al said that…the alien's home planet was destroyed by the star it orbited around… and that because all the habitable planets were taken, their people were starving, and slowly dying off… they decided to attack a planet that already had a civilization. But… the first civilization retaliated and destroyed their planet, just so the invaders couldn't get to it. So they couldn't get stronger."

"Right." Tony nodded. "That first civilization they attacked was my own people."

Canada gasped, his lips parting in surprise.

"My people…on average… are not an aggressive species. Our culture is all about learning, making discoveries, experimenting, gathering knowledge… that is why when they attacked, we had no hope of defending our planet like you do." Tony stated, and crossed his arms over his chest. "We didn't want the planet hunters to take our planet and its resources, to get stronger and attack other planets and civilizations. So… that is why we used our science and knowledge to destroy everything."

"But…but where did your people go? What did you do?"

"My people were put on ships and we fled the planet hunters on them. They chased us for years, angry at what we did, trying to take everything we had. But we kept running, and did everything we could to survive. After five hundred years of drifting in space, making light speed jumps to other solar systems, we came across a planet on accident that was habitable for my people. And due to the massive star it orbited, a class B, and the interstellar cloud it resided in, we were completely hidden from distant observation. Our communication signals could not penetrate the cloud that surrounded us, and the class A star was bright enough to overpower the light the planet gave off. Using our science and technology, we successfully moved onto the planet and today it is still my people's home.

"After what the planet hunters did to us, my people decided that they wanted to do everything in their power to prevent the planet hunters from doing it again. So they created a type of military special class. The people who volunteered were trained in stealth and communications, fighting techniques and possible weaponry that relied more on instantly disabling the enemy without causing physical harm. They were then sent out to planets that had known civilizations. Their main purpose was only to observe and track the progress of the civilization, and if the planet hunters showed up, we were to do everything in our power to stop them."

"…You were sent here." Canada breathed. "You were apart of that military…class? You…_volunteered_?"

Tony nodded. "I was given my assignment 100 earth years ago. I arrived in your solar system in the year 1950. During the light-speed jump, my space craft passed through the tail of a comet, severely damaging my ship. I crash landed on Earth, and Alfred found me. I didn't trust him, or anyone at first. I was afraid I would never be able to go home again. But Alfred…gave me a place to stay. He put up with the, quote "weird-ass experiments", I did in his basement and never said anything to his boss. He is my best friend…and when I received the alarm on my equipment that the planet hunters appeared and were nuking the planet… I grabbed him and threw him into a survival pod I dragged up from his basement."

"How long do these… _assignments_ last?"

"100 earth years."

"So…you just float in space in your ship? Alone? For... a hundred years?" Canada's skin crawled just thinking about it.

"No, they permit you to visit the planet, to interact with the humans if you can disguise yourself without being detected." Tony explained. "But we are not to interfere with the progress of the civilization. This planet… when I received the assignment, it was classified as a pre-space flight civilization. Your planet is diverse with life and still filled with plenty of resources, but it is small. This is what Alfred might call…"a backwater" planet. It was not expected to garner the attention of the planet hunters, but they sent me regardless."

"Well I'm glad they did." Canada cracked a smile. "If you weren't here… things would have been very different. Al… might not have made it without you."

"I have to get my ship." Tony insisted again, shifting from one foot to the other. "Once I get my ship, and once the signal is created… I can fly into low-earth-orbit and use it to finally defeat the planet hunters once and for all."

Tony turned back to the sky and stared, watching the glittering stars and the alien ships orbit overhead in a wide-reaching arc across the sky.

"And then…the goal my people have spent hundreds of years working towards will be fulfilled."

* * *

Three Days Later/Day Break

America burst from the below deck and raced down the deck, dodging deckhands and sailors, ships boys and lieutenants. Sliding to a halt at the bow of the ship, he gripped the gunwale and peered into the fog. Three days of nothing but wind, rain and rough sea's hampered the landing, bringing in heavy fog, and forcing them to sail south along the coastline until the storm cleared. The fog remained with them, but the land was near.

Breathing in deeply, America smelled the pine and oak against the crisp salt of the ocean.

_We're still in Mattie's waters… but we're close to my borders too. We have to be on the coast of Newfoundland._ America glanced back to his brother, who was currently steering the ship with England standing beside him, arms crossed over his chest, a stern expression permanently etched into his features. He seemed years younger, as if the ocean itself washed away the dirt and grim, worry and stress that accumulated while fighting for survival back on land in Europe. The two stood at alert, Canada seemed to be glowing with excitement and relief at being inside his own borders once more. _We're close… the coast has to be only a mile away, if not a little more. Damn this fog!_

A sudden flash of color, _orange? yellow?_ appeared through the fog. Narrowing his eyes, America rubbed them and refocused. Seeing the flash of color again, America turned back and found Canada with a stricken look on his face.

_What? Where the hell are we?_ Pushing away from the gunwale, he ran back to the helm.

"What's going on?" America asked, gasping slightly, the cool, crisp air stinging his lungs. "What's happening?"

"We're closing in on Lumsden." Canada began, and at the lost look in his brother's eyes, added: "It's a small town on the eastern coastline of Newfoundland."

Recognition dawned, but America remained concerned.

"There's fighting." Canada gripped the helm. "I can feel it. It's happening right now in the town."

"How far are we from the shore?" England asked.

"Another three minutes and we can set anchor."

England nodded curtly and stepped away to gather the crew and pick out the shore party. America went below deck with Tony and pulled their weapons out, Canada's two rifles, his own henry rifle and his single 44 magnum.*Finally, he pulled the TT-30 out from his bag and turned it over in his hands, sliding his fingers across the handgrip and over the barrel. It was clean and well-polished, as it should be. He treated this gun like all of the others he held, if not better than the others, knowing who it belonged too. A long, heavy sigh escaped, and after spending the next minute staring at it, he forced himself into action and holstered it into the leather gun belt that lay flat on the bed. Putting his only 44 magnum into the other holster, he loaded the belt with ammo for both and buckled it around his waist. The belt was soon followed by another that was only ammo that hung lopsided across his hips. Finally, he picked up his ax and tied it around his back.

Tugging the waistband of his frayed blue-jeans up, he rolled up the sleeves to his shirt, which was once white now turned cream from the sun and grime of the voyage, to his elbows. He gathered the personal items that lay strewn across his hammock, as Canada had already packed and placed their bags within their hammocks to keep them dry from the damp wooden floor. Tony helped pick up Canada's rifles while America carried the small bag of ammo and his own rifle to the main deck. The crew had already lowered the anchor and the ships sails tied down. Canada, England and eight sailors stood at the starboard side, preparing the first rowboat to be lowered. Canada stepped inside first, as this was his homeland and he was to be the first to step on shore, an old tradition all nations followed, and turned to America.

"Here's your stuff." America handed him his weapons and bag, which Canada took, tying the ammo bag from his shoulders so it hung neatly on his hip, and slinging his high powered rifle around his shoulders, keeping the regular rifle ready to fire in his arms. "See you on shore?"

Canada nodded, and offered a tight smile that was worn with worry. "See you on shore."

Five sailors joined Canada, and the boat was lowered to the water, the ropes pulled away. As the boat rowed away, another was hauled over and prepared. America, England and Tony stepped inside, and three sailors soon joined them. Once they hit the water, one of the sailors took control and rowed them to the shoreline. America glanced to England, and found him loading a rifle across his lap.

"Hey…" America started, and remembered to keep his words guarded as there were humans directly behind them. "Thanks for coming with us."

England paused suddenly, and blinked twice before continuing. "You've always been better at traveling over land than on the open sea."

"…True." America smirked. "But Mattie is good at both. And… well." America shook his head and slapped a hand on England's shoulder, squeezing it momentarily before releasing him. "I think it was good for you to come."

England kept his head bowed, but a tiny, awkward smile slowly grew across his face. "Yes. It was _good_."

Water slapped at the boat, and sounds of distant fighting started coming into focus. Screams and shouts, gunfire and explosions sounded. America tensed and gripped his rifle, leaning forward and trying to peer through the thick fog. Orange light slowly became apparent, a warm glow reflecting off the thick water vapor. The shoreline slowly came into view, seconds later the boat struck ground. America jumped out, his legs sinking into the water knee deep and he grabbed the boat and pulled it forward, beaching it. The other boat lay empty nearby.

_Mattie- he's already fighting._

America took one glance back to England before surging forward into the fog. Dark outlines of buildings came into view, screaming and shouts, all a mixture of English and French, sounded around him. Gunfire echoed throughout the town, explosions and balls of erupting fire were barely seen in the fog. An alien suddenly came into his vision, and America raised his rifle and shot it without thinking. He fell to his knees and rifled through its gear, picking up grenades and healing supplies before jumping up once more.

He ran down a paved street, straining his eyes to try and see through the fog when a group of aliens appeared. They fired a volley and America fell to the ground to keep the shots from hitting him. Dropping his rifle, he pulled the TT-30 from its holster, yanked the ax from his back and ran forward. Shooting on alien in the head, he slammed the ax single-handedly into another. The others turned on him, and suddenly Canada was there, slamming the butt of his rifle into the face of one alien while firing a bullet through another's head. Slicing his ax blade through the chest of the last alien, America tore it away and shook the excess alien blood off when a feminine scream pierced the air.

_…I know that voice._ His blood turned cold. _Maine._

"Let _go_ of her!" Another voice yelled, while sounds of a struggle took place. "Stop-!"

The voice ended with a gunshot. Canada sprinted forward toward the voice.

"Newfoundland- it was him!"

America ran after his twin, the two running blindly through the fog until a teenager, looking barely younger than Canada himself, came into view. He clutched a bleeding shoulder, wincing and hissing in pain.

"Newfoundland!" Canada hovered over him, worry flooding his face.

The teenager looked up in surprise, his purple tinted hazel eyes widening.

"I…what are you doing here? The others told me you went to Europe?"

"I did. I just came back and…" Canada stared at the gunshot wound. "What happened? Why are they here?"

The boy shifted, his dark blond hair, tangled and dirty from the fighting, fell forward. "This is…one of the largest settlements in this area since the flash, and Maine…she came up to trade with some of her people. She was getting ready to leave when they attacked. With the fog it's been impossible to see what's going on. They grabbed Maine and I and…I managed to get away but…"

America squeezed his rifle and just barely remembered to keep his strength in check before he crushed it. His deep, curling, overprotective nature kicked in as white-hot anger filled him at the thought of the aliens taking one of his states away from him.

"What happened to her?" He demanded. "Where is she?"

"I think they went that way." Newfoundland pointed down the street where a field opened up and patches of thick forest stood. "I think they wanted to use us to bargain with-"

America stepped away and burst into a sprint down the road.

"Wait! Alfred _don't_!" Canada shouted after him. "It's going to be a trap- Al!"

America ignored his twin's voice and surged forward, leaping over the two rail wooden fence with ease and sprinted across a grassy field.

"God _damnit_ America." Canada growled and turned to Newfoundland. "Can you stand?"

The teenager nodded and shifted his legs to stand.

"Good. Go get England and tell him where we went."

"But-!"

"Just do it!" Canada shouted. "I have to keep my idiot brother from killing himself."

He turned and ran down the road, following America's trail over the fence, through field and into the woods.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **_America and Canada fight a losing battle & the aliens admit of wanting the North American twins for the same purpose of wanting Russia: to capture them and merge them together into a new ship of their fleet._

_A/n:_ Just as a warning, the story's gonna get darker as we go alone. *But* to keep all of you from sending hate mail/death threats, there will be a happy ending. I promise! :)

Extra Notes

**1. America grew defensive, as science and space exploration was a passion of his.** - This is more of my personal head canon than anything else. It really infuriatesannoys me when people write America as dumb as a brick, because despite the stereotypical majority you see in the media, there's a huge population of people in America that love science and math and space exploration etcetc, regardless of it being their career or a hobby. Besides, its canon/fact that America chooses not to acknowledge the mood/atmosphere. –steps off soapbox–

**2. Fallout** - [Wiki] "Fallout is the residual radiation hazard from a nuclear explosion, so called because it "falls out" of the atmosphere after the explosion. It commonly refers to the radioactive dust created when a nuclear weapon explodes. This radioactive dust, consisting of hot particles, is a kind of radioactive contamination. It can lead to the contamination of ground and the animal food chain."

**3. Area 51** - [Wiki] "Area 51 is a name used in official CIA documents (at least since 1967)[1] for a military base that is located in the southern portion of Nevada in the western United States, 83 miles (133 km) north-northwest of downtown Las Vegas. Situated at its center, on the southern shore of Groom Lake, is a large secretive military airfield. The base's primary purpose is to support development and testing of experimental aircraft and weapons systems. (…) The intense secrecy surrounding the base, the very existence of which the U.S. government barely acknowledges, has made it the frequent subject of conspiracy theories and a central component to unidentified flying object (UFO) folklore."

**4. Newfoundland, Canada** - [Wiki] "Newfoundland and Labrador (pronounced /njuːfəndˈlænd ənd læbrəˈdɔr/; French: Terre-Neuve-et-Labrador, Irish: Talamh an Éisc agus Labradar, Latin: Terra Nova) is a province of Canada on the country's Atlantic coast in northeastern North America. This easternmost Canadian province comprises two main parts: the island of Newfoundland off the country's eastern coast, and Labrador on the mainland to the northwest of the island. A former colony and dominion of the United Kingdom, it became the tenth province to enter the Canadian Confederation on 31 March 1949, named simply as Newfoundland. Since 1964, the province's government has referred to itself as the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador, and on 6 December 2001, an amendment was made to the Constitution of Canada to change the province's official name to Newfoundland and Labrador.[4] In day-to-day conversation, however, Canadians generally still refer to the province itself as Newfoundland and to the region on the Canadian mainland as Labrador."

**5. Maine, USA** – [Wiki] "(French: _l'État du Maine_[5]) is a state in the New England region of the northeastern United States, bordered by the Atlantic Ocean to the southeast, New Hampshire to the southwest, and the Canadian provinces of Quebec to the northwest and New Brunswick to the northeast. Maine is the northernmost portion of New England and is the country's easternmost state. It is known for its scenery—its jagged, mostly rocky coastline, its low, rolling mountains, and its heavily forested interior—as well as for its seafood cuisine, especially lobsters and clams. The original inhabitants of the territory that is now Maine were Algonquian-speaking peoples. The first European settlement in Maine was in 1604 by a French party. The first English settlement in Maine, the short-lived Popham Colony, was established by the Plymouth Company in 1607. A number of English settlements were established along the coast of Maine in the 1620s, although the rugged climate, deprivations, and conflict with the local peoples wiped out many of them over the years. As Maine entered the 18th century, only a half dozen European settlements still survived. Patriot and British forces contended for Maine's territory during the American Revolution and the War of 1812. Maine was an exclave of Massachusetts until 1820, when as a result of the growing population and a political agreement regarding slavery, it became the 23rd state on March 15 under the Missouri Compromise."

**6. Class B star** - [Wiki] "Class B stars are extremely luminous and blue. Their spectra have neutral helium, which are most prominent at the B2 subclass, and moderate hydrogen lines. Ionized metal lines include Mg II and Si II. As O and B stars are so powerful, they only live for a very short time, and thus they do not stray far from the area in which they were formed. These stars tend to cluster together in what are called OB associations, which are associated with giant molecular clouds. The Orion OB1 association occupies a large portion of a spiral arm of our galaxy and contains many of the brighter stars of the constellation Orion. About 1 in 800 of the main sequence stars in the solar neighborhood are Class B stars." I'm kind of a space/science nerd, so if this doesn't make much sense then I apologize :( Basically, these stars are about a million times bigger than our own sun, and are found in places like the eagle nebula. Here's a picture to show the size difference between a Class B star, and a Class G star (which is what our sun is): http : / / upload .wikimedia .org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/8b/Morgan-Keenan_spectral_/500px-Morgan-Keenan_spectral_

**7. Henry Rifle** - [Wiki] "The original Henry rifle was a .44 caliber rimfire, lever-action, breech-loading rifle designed by Benjamin Tyler Henry in the late 1850s. The Henry rifle was an improved version of the earlier Volcanic Repeating rifle. By the time production ended in 1866, approximately 14,000 units had been manufactured. For a Civil War soldier, owning a Henry rifle was a point of pride. Although it was never officially adopted for service by the Union Army, many soldiers purchased Henrys with their own funds. The brass framed rifles could fire at a rate of 28 rounds per minute when used correctly, so soldiers who saved their pay to buy one often believed it would help them survive. They were frequently used by scouts, skirmishers, flank guards, and raiding parties, rather than in regular infantry formations. To the amazed muzzleloader-armed Confederates who had to face this deadly "sixteen shooter," it was "that damned Yankee rifle that they load on Sunday and shoot all week!" Very few captured Henry rifles were used on a limited basis by Confederate troops. Since those few Confederate troops who came into possession of one of these rifles had little way to resupply the special ammunition used by this gun, its widespread use by Confederate forces was very impractical. The rifle was however, known to have been used at least in part by some fifteen different Confederate units. These units included cavalry units in Louisiana, Texas, and Virginia, as well as the personal bodyguards of Confederate President Jefferson Davis."

Russian Translations by silvensorrow

**1. Давно не виделись.** - (Davno ne videlis') - We haven't seen each other for a long time

**2. Ты здоров** - (Ti zdorov) Are you in good health?

**3. Петербург** - Petersburg (Short for Saint Petersburg) – I actually didn't get this from silvensorrow, but instead it came from Wikipedia. And we all know how questionable they can be "Saint Petersburg (Russian: Са́нкт-Петербу́рг (help•info), tr. Sankt-Peterburg, IPA [ˈsankt pʲɪtʲɪrˈburk]) is a city and a federal subject (a federal city) of Russia located on the Neva River at the head of the Gulf of Finland on the Baltic Sea. (...) Founded by Tsar Peter I of Russia on May 27, 1703, it was the capital of the Russian Empire for more than two hundred years (1713–1728, 1732–1918). Saint Petersburg ceased being the capital in 1918 after the Russian Revolution of 1917.[10] It is Russia's second largest city after Moscow with 4.6 million inhabitants, and fourth in Europe after Istanbul, London and Moscow. Saint Petersburg is a major European cultural centre, and an important Russian port on the Baltic Sea."


	17. Chapter 17

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & mature themes.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

* * *

America ran through the trees, pausing only to hunt for tracks before surging forward once more. It was one of his weaknesses, his over-protective nature toward his states. They were all precious to him regardless of what they did, and he loved them all equally. But all it took was one of them getting hurt to send him into a near blind rage.

Another scream, this time sounding more of frustration than surprise, shattered the silent forest air. He chambered a few rounds in his rifle and continued running forward, dodging through trees and leaping over bushes. His heart hammered in his chest and wedged itself in his throat. _If they do anything to her…_

The aliens suddenly appeared a few trees ahead as he rose to the top of a small hill. He continued running and slammed the butt of his rifle into the aliens face before shooting another through the chest. The aliens hissed and screeched at him, one of them holding Maine by her cropped blonde hair and aiming a gun at her head.

"Just _shoot_ him dad!" Maine yelled while struggling to get away.

The alien hissed threateningly, and curled his finger around the trigger of his gun. America forced himself to halt, his muscles tensing as he glared at the alien.

"Let her go." He growled, clenching his fists around the rifle and ax he clutched.

The alien shook his head, growling at him.

"Let her go!" America shouted, raising his ax. "Do it! Right _fucking_ now or else!"

The alien hissed and stabbed the gun barrel into Maine's temple.

America raised the rifle to shoot him when Maine gasped suddenly.

"Dad behind-!"

America spun around onto to have a tree branch slam across his head. He fell to the ground, dropping his weapons. The trees spun around, his body tingling and struggling to keep him conscious. America gasped, blinked his eyes and tried getting up again. Something hard slammed into the back of his skull in the exact same spot. Black and white spots filled his vision, the trees a blur as his glasses were thrown from his face. Grass filled his vision, the monochrome spots all blurring together. His eyes rolled up, and then the world fell away.

* * *

"Dad- _Dad_!" Maine shouted, struggling against the alien keeping her hostage. "Get up!"

America lay prone on the ground in a half-sprawled position, his face pressed into the ground, his hair wild and tangled, his left arm trapped beneath him, his right extended outward. His glasses lay only a few short feet away. Blood seeped into his hair and streamed down the side of his face.

The aliens stepped close to him, kicking him gently with their feet before shoving him onto his back.

"Get _away_ from him you fucking bastards!" Maine growled, elbowing her captor only to have the butt of his gun slam across her face. "Don't touch him! Stop-!"

A gunshot echoed, and the alien that kicked America fell to the ground, its head splayed open. They all screeched in surprise and reached for their guns when another shot rang out, and the alien clutching Maine fell to the ground. Tearing herself away, she picked up its gun and turned it onto the captors.

Canada suddenly appeared through the trees, and slammed his rifle across one of the alien's faces. Maine raised her new gun to fight back, only to have Canada push it away.

"Go get England and show him where we're at. He's not as good at tracking as we are."

"But-!"

"Do it!" Canada shouted, pushing her away. "Go now!"

Maine shot Canada one last desperate look before sprinting back through the trees.

Canada glanced over, watching her retreating back. "Hurry-!"

The aliens fired suddenly, and the high-powered rifle Canada clutched was hit away from his grasp. Gasping, he stepped backward, hoping to find cover behind a tree and reached for the rifle at his shoulder when they fired again. Pain erupted in his shoulder, and Canada dropped the other rifle with a grunt. The leader halted the other soldiers and handed them his own gun. Stepping forward, he reached around a tore an ebony blade from its waist. It hissed and shook the sword encouragingly. Canada clutched his bleeding shoulder and shook with anger. He glanced to his rifle that wasn't shot to pieces, and then back to the aliens.

The soldier's clutched their guns, daring him to reach for the rifle so they'd have an excuse to shoot him.

The leader hissed again and grunted, shaking its sword once more.

"…Fine." Canada growled, and yanking his dagger from its sheath on his forearm and the short hand axe he kept at his waist. "I'll play your little _game_."

It had been well over several hundred years since he last fought like this. And even back then, he'd never been very good at it. The elder nations from the _old world_ were far more skilled than him, having used them for hundreds of years before black powder weapons were created. But France still taught him hand to hand combat with a sword, a dagger, and other weapons, despite hating every minute of it. Guns were not reliable when he was young, and if his powder got wet, he would have to use other weapons to defend himself.

_Remember your footwork, as that can alone can often determine the winner of a skirmish._ France's lessons came back to him. _Be cautious, but not too cautious. Ride that line between aggressive and defensive… pick the time to strike in moderation._

Gripping the long dagger and hand ax, he breathed deeply, willing the pain from his shoulder away and darted forward. The alien raised its sword and the two blades met with a clash. Canada darted to the side and swung the hand axe at its neck. It stepped back, swerved to the side and raised its sword. Canada defended the blow with his dagger, only to have the alien pull out another hidden sword and slash a deep line across his chest.

Canada hissed and stepped away, staring down at the bleeding gnash across his chest. Raising his head, he seethed angrily at the alien.

"Fucking _cheat_." Canada growled, clutching his dagger and hand axe.

The alien hissed and wiggled its sword tauntingly.

Quivering in anger, he kept his last shred of patience with him and focused his anger to a fine edge. Sprinting forward, he stabbed his dagger to the things gut only to have it deflected back. Their blades clashed together, the two darted around, stabbed and lashing, dodging and deflecting, the two in an old, violent dance around each other. The alien slowly grew sluggish in its moves, and Canada knew he was winning.

_Wear them down if your skills' are not as sharp as the other's._ France's words from hundreds of years ago rang clear in his mind. _They will grow tired and frustrated. They will make mistakes._

The alien screeched in frustration and slammed its sword into his dagger, twisted it around and tore the dagger from his grasp. Canada gasped at the move and stepped away, only to have his back slam into a tree. It lunged forward, but Canada darted to the side. The alien wheeled on its feet and jumped, the longer blade stabbing into his gut.

"Ahh!" Canada shouted in pain as he hunched over.

The leader jabbed its sword forward deeper before tearing it away with a sickening wet _squelch_. Canada clutched his belly with one hand and held the dagger out before him. The alien hissed at him in a mocking fashion, wiggling its swords again.

"Too bad…you have to _cheat_ in order to win."

Without warning, the leader smashed the flat of its blade at Canada's face, knocking him back and then lunched forward, aiming the point of its sword at Canada's chest. He raised his dagger to deflect it, but pain sapped at his strength and the sword 's aim only moved the other side of his chest, away from his heart. It sunk into him, sliding through his rib cage to pierce his left lung.

Gasping, Canada clutched the sword and stepped away, pulling the blade from his chest and throwing it to the ground. Blood filled his mouth and he fell to one knee.

The leader bent over and picked his sword up, wiping it clean before sheathing it. His lips pursed and glared at Canada for a long moment.

"You two..." He started, forcing the words from his throat. "… will be merged together into a ship of our fleet. You two…will cease to exist. A new nation will take your place- and be one of our own."

"I thought…you only wanted Russia." Canada spat, spitting blood.

"We do. We will get him." The leader stated, its voice hoarse and gravely. "Only a matter of time."

Canada glared at the alien and forced himself to his feet. Still gripping his dagger and hand axe, blood now soaking his chest and stomach where it dripped to the evergreen grass below, he staggered over to America who hadn't moved and stood before him protectively. Taking a quick glance, he saw blood soaking his brother's hair, and immediately he knew they struck him hard enough to fracture his skull, possibly worse. That alone told him they were taking no chances with his twin's abnormal strength. They were serious, and truly meant to capture them and…kill them.

The misty fog parted and sunlight flooded the forest, glinting off of the gun at America's waist. Russia's TT-30. Canada forced his eyes away.

The alien soldiers moved away from him, all glancing to their leader and gripping their guns, aiming them at Canada. The leader held his fist up, and the soldiers lowered their weapons.

"I won't let you." Canada growled through clenched teeth, all stained with crimson. "He's my brother. My _twin_. I love him too much to let you do this."

_Even after everything you've done… all the fighting and invading… the rivalry's and arguments we've had… so long as I can stand on my own two feet… I will protect you. Just as I know you would protect me. _

The leader stared at him for a long moment, looking almost confused at Canada's defiant stand. Wordlessly, he tore one of his soldier's guns away from their grasp and aimed it at Canada's chest.

"You have been defeated." The leader stated plainly, emotionlessly. "You're words are meaningless."

In a fit of sudden angry desperation, Canada dropped his weapons, tore the TT-30 from America's holster and fired it into the aliens, killing two instantly before the leader reacted and fired three rounds into his chest. Canada fell back, collapsing under his own weight, dropping the gun to the ground. Screeching orders at the soldiers, they tied Canada's wrists and legs together before hauling him up. America soon followed, one of the aliens slinging him limply over its shoulder.

Canada gagged, choking on the blood that rapidly rose up his throat, and stared into the blue sky.

* * *

"They're up this way, hurry!"

Maine ran up the hill with England and Tony following close behind, both clutching rifles. They exploded into a clearing when Maine finally came to a halt.

"They were right here!" She gasped, looking around. "I swear it!"

England panted softly and glanced about when his eyes landed on the blood. Beside it was America's glasses and a gun. Horror filled him as realization struck him through the chest.

England burst into a sprint and ran through the trees, forcing himself to run despite the cramping in his legs, the burning in his lungs. Trees flew past him as he jumped over tree roots and dodged bushes when a meadow opened up and there, in the center of it, was the alien transport. Raising his rifle, England aimed and fired into the back of the alien carrying America. He buckled and crumpled to the ground, dropping America's large, yet limp, form to the ground. Surprised screeches barely registered over the roar of the jet engines as they powered up. He fired again and again, racing across the field, desperately trying to stop them. More aliens fell dead, others fired back at him but he ignored the bullets whistling past him. His rifle finally clicked empty just as the space jet arose off the ground.

"No!" England shouted desperately, throwing his rifle away and pulling the Webley revolver from his waist to fire at the jet, its engines roaring as it flew higher and higher into the sky.* "No, no, no!"

The jet roared away, moving higher and higher into the sky, forcing itself through the atmosphere, turning into a burning dot in the sky before it disappeared from sight completely.

England finally staggered to a halt, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. "_No…_Canada…"

"…No…" He repeated again, his shoulder's shaking in angry defeat.

Heaving a gasp, he threw his revolver away with angry shout, cursing at the sky before slamming his fists to the ground.

"God…_damnit_ to fucking hell!" England yelled and slammed his fists to the ground again and again, until his hands throbbed, until his knuckles ached. Collapsing forward, he pressed his forehead to the ground and dug his fingers into the cool earth. Rocking forward, he choked on a gasp and felt hot tears stream down his cheeks.

After a few minutes, he straightened and pulled his fingers from the earth. He wiped his face and closed his eyes, feel the cool breeze on his face, smelling the oak and pine, feeling _Matthew_ all around him. He breathed in deeply before releasing it in a sigh.

"…England?" Maine's voice came from behind, soft and inquiring.

Taking a moment to collect himself, England picked up his revolver and staggered to his feet, turning to face her.

"Dad-…America…he has a compound depressed skull fracture and… I think he got a concussion from the hit. It's still bleeding… I…" She stared at him, her eyes lost. "What do we do now?"

He breathed, her words slowly sinking in. He felt a wave of strange wave of nostalgia flow through him. Even after everything that happened, in a time of need, America's states still asked him for help, for advice.

Behind her, at the opposite end of the meadow lay America with Tony kneeling beside him, inspecting the wound on his head.

"Wrap his head to slow the bleeding. We're going back to town."

"But-…but…Matthew…"

England swallowed the lump down his throat.

"Don't worry."

He knew how America would react when he woke up.

"I'll tell him."

* * *

England stood outside a building that _wasn't_ destroyed in the attack on Lumsden. Inside was Maine, Newfoundland, America and Tony; the air inside stifling with tension and solemn uncertainty.

The aliens wanted the North American twins, and they were willing to attack settlements of any size to draw their attention. They were growing desperate and taking risks. It brought a stab of horrifying realization to him, that no one was _safe_. The nations that were already captured… he couldn't help but shudder at the thought.

The sun was setting, its last rays of light disappearing beyond the horizon. The townsfolk slowly returned to their homes, having done as much rebuilding as they could in the afternoon before night fell. Sighing, England pushed himself off the wall and entered the building, closing and locking the door behind him.

The room, having once been a reception area for a local animal vet, was dark, no candles or oil lamps having been lit.

Newfoundland sat on a chair directly under a window on the left wall, his head cradled in his hands, his fingers dug deep through his hair, touching his scalp. Maine sat behind the reception desk, her face buried in her folded arms on the desk.

"England…" Newfoundland finally muttered, picking his head up. "I… what…" He struggled for a moment. "Will anything happen to us with them having Matthew…?"

Drawing himself back together, he straightened his posture and felt a small curl of quiet resolution fill him.

"No." England reassured. "You, your brothers and sisters will have to work harder, making sure you keep connected, do what you can to help your people, and listen to your elected government... we'll get him back. We won't let them harm him."

Newfoundland nodded, but the sadness in his face remained.

"…Right."

* * *

Late Evening

Pain met him through the layers of sleep. Throbbing and pulsing, stinging and piercing. The sleepy veils all layered around his body fell away. Feeling returned to his limbs, and he opened his eyes. Breathing in, he lifted his hand to the throbbing on his head, finding it wrapped in thick, stiff bandages.

"…Alfred?"

England's voice. America turned to him and sat up with a gasp.

"Maine- she's-!"

England stood and pressed two hands to his chest, shushing him and pushing him back into the bare mattress.

"Wait-… what…" He touched his head again. "I-"

"You were hit on the head by surprise." England explained. "You were knocked out."

"Knocked out… but..."

"What is the last thing you remember?" England asked, his eyes guarded.

America stared at him, nervous suspicion filling him. The room he was in was small, and had medical diagrams of dogs and cats taped to the walls. The bed he was on felt like an operating table with a thin mattress thrown on it. England sat beside him, clutching something in his hands.

_We're in a veterinary practice, then…_

"I… was running." America started. "The aliens- they had Maine and…I was running to get her- to save her."

"Anything else?" England questioned. "Anything at all?"

…_Something's happened. I can feel it._

"… Arthur." America stared at him, a hollow feeling slowly carving itself in his chest. "What happened?"

England swallowed, his evergreen eyes shifting to the opposite wall for a moment before turning to focus on America.

"The aliens took you by surprise and knocked you over the head hard enough to give you a skull fracture." England explained quickly. "Canada followed you- he sent Maine after me to show me where you were at… leaving him alone to fight."

America stared at him, his eyes slowly narrowing.

"Where is he?"

England met his narrowed gaze.

"He was captured… along with you. I made it in time to save you but…" England swallowed, his eyes filled with pain. "They flew away with Matthew. I couldn't stop them."

Minutes passed, and America turned his gaze to the opposite wall.

"... Oh."

_They flew away with Matthew. Matthew… they captured Matthew…_

Something gave way within, a heavy weight settled on his shoulders. Eyes stinging, America breathed and clenched the blankets. "Where did they take him?"

England shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"They flew… beyond the atmosphere, Alfred." His voice spoke in low, wilted tones.

"What?" America turned on him suddenly, his voice bordering on hysterical. "They took him to orbit? To their fucking ships _in orbit_?"

"I watched their ship break through the atmosphere… I couldn't do anything. My weapons were _useless_." England finished with a frustrated growl and crossed his arms over his chest. "There's no way we can get to him now-"

"There is."

England peered at him, his eyes slowly narrowing.

"There _is_ a way to get to him." America insisted.

Digging his fingers into the bed sheets and bunching them up in his fists, he turned to the side and slid off the operating table/mattress, wavering for a moment, his head throbbing before he clenched the edge of the countertop.

"America." England stood from his chair, back stalk straight, eyes blazing. "If you're thinking of doing what I think you're-"

"There **is** a way to get him back!" America yelled, turning on England. "I'm _going_ to get Tony's space ship, we're _going_ to use the fucking signal on these bastards and we're **going** to get him back! I don't care if I have to go through _every fucking ship_ to find him-"

"Not necessary." Tony interjected. "With the confiscated computer console Germany has, we can look up his exact location."

"There! See!" America jabbed his index finger in the air at Tony. "We'll have Germany look up his location so we can find him! And then once we know _that_, we'll get Tony's ship and-"

"And what? Go up there by yourself? Are you _fucking __**daft**_?" England finally shouted, his voice reverberating off the thin walls. "You come to Europe _first_-!"

"I can't bring an entire army up there in Tony's ship, England!" America shouted back. "It can barely hold three people!"

"The maximum limit is four people." Tony stated calmly despite the two nations shouting at one-another. "Any more and the CO2 scrubbers will be beyond capacity."

"I didn't mean an _army_, **git**." England snarled. "I cannot have you charging up there in his ship without a-"

"I wasn't going to do that!"

"Oh **bollocks**- of _course_ you were!" England accused, his face twisted in anger. "Don't give me that _shite_!"

"I wasn't, so stop putting words in my mouth!" America gripped the edge of the table, the throbbing pain in his head suddenly intensifying without warning. "And I'll do what I fucking **want** to do-!"

"No you're _not_!" England interrupted, his voice direct and commanding. "Because the _last_ time you charged into something without a _fucking_ plan, you got clubbed over the head and Matthew was captured!"

Silence filled the room for three seconds. America breathed through his nose, the edge of the table slowly giving way under his quivering grip.

"So you're blaming me." America nodded, eyes blazing in anger. "Good to know."

"If you hadn't have charged into the woods blindly, Matthew wouldn't have followed." England explained in clipped tones, his entire body tense with anger.

"So I should've just let them take Maine?" America asked, his voice deadly quiet. "And have them use her as a hostage to bargain with?"

"The situation would've been under control." England crossed his arms over his chest. "So yes. You should've left Maine behind."

"… I can't do that." America shook his head in affirmation. "I can't – I won't – I'll **never** be able to do that!" America growled desperately. "And if you think I-!"

A metallic snap pierced the tense air, and suddenly America's glasses fell away, the metal band holding them perched on America's nose snapped in two. The lenses clattered to the floor, the sound deafening. America gasped wetly, his mouth and throat suddenly full of blood. England stared opened mouthed at him, surprise filling his face. Choking, blood spilled past America's lips and down his chin. Numbing pain filled his legs, turning them to jelly and he collapsed to the floor. Tony rushed forward, grabbed what was left of his glasses before America crushed them. England also lunged forward, but stopped when he saw America sitting on his hands and knees, his face tilted to the floor, blood dripping, forming a tiny pool on the tile.

England knelt on one knee before him.

"I have your glasses." Tony reassured, and set them down on the counter, already digging through his bag for something to fix them with.

Shoulders trembling, America clenched his fingers into fists. "Texas- the southern… they bombed…"

"They have control of Texas now?" England asked tentatively, his voice cautious.

"No." America lifted a hand to wipe the blood from his face. "They have control of the land, but not… Texas himself…" He coughed, spitting more blood to the impossibly white tile. "They bombed… nearly all of the major settlements left… in that area...and…in the south…" America slowly leaned back on his legs, straightening himself. Reaching around, he grasped the edge of the counter and tried lifting himself up, but his legs remained firmly planted on the ground. "Damnit…_damnit_-"

England stood and moved for the door. "I'll get Maine-"

"No!" America shouted and momentarily lost his grip on the counter, dropping to the floor. "I don't want her to see me like this."

"… Alfred-"

"_No_." America glared at him and finally gave up on standing, choosing instead to slump back against the counter. "I need to look… strong. I can't have my states seeing me like this…"

"I remembered seeing electrical tape upstairs." Tony picked up his bag, slinging it across his shoulders and picking up the broken remains of Texas. "Don't do anything stupid, fucking limey."

And he left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

A long silence passed between them before America jerked himself around and clutched the edge of the countertop once more. Grunting, he tried pulling himself up, forcing his legs to work properly.

_I can't let my legs affect me now. I have to get up- I have to keep going… so that I can get Tony's ship. I was able to walk okay during my Civil War… I can walk now!_

He slowly put more weight on his feet, relaxing his arms in the process when pain seared through the soles of his feet and into the muscles of his calves. They immediately gave way and he fell back to the floor with a gasp. Half groaning, half growling, America turned to his side and pushed himself back up, grasping the edge of the counter again.

Two hands touched his back. "Alfred-…" England pried his hands from the edge of the counter. "… _America_."

Heaving a gasp, America kept his head bowed, his face hidden. "Mattie… Mattie's gone… " America sniffed messily, snot starting to run from his nose as hot tears spilled over his cheeks. Choking on a gasping sob, his bit his bottom lip and felt hot streams of tears run down his cheeks. He quickly rubbed them away only to have new tears immediately appear. Sucking in a breath, he strangled a sob back down his throat, and pressed his face to the wood grain of the counter. "My legs are numb…can't even fucking stand up…"

England pulled America away from the counter and yanked a handkerchief from his pocket.

"Good _lord_ I'd forgotten how much of a messy crier you are…" England stated, his voice trembling despite his calm annoyance. He wiped America's face, tears, snot and all. "And Matthew _is_ gone, but not gone _forever_… we'll get him back." England reassured despite the strong waver in his voice. "He's alive, and he's safe… they won't harm him. Not now… at least."

America breathed in, releasing a shuddering sigh. "I-… uh… sorry. For… yellin' at you. Earlier." America sniffed messily. "I-"

"-am upset." England finished, and turned away, unable to meet America's questioning stare. "I know… I am upset too."

"Let's not fight again. Okay?" America pulled away to look at him, his eyes bloodshot and face tear-streaked. "We always argue about stupid shit… and then we don't talk to each other for weeks… and then we forget what we argued about and wonder why we hated each other."

England couldn't help but crack a crooked smile at that. "So long as you don't give me a _reason_ to yell at you… which you've been pretty good at doing lately."

America glared at him and pushed away, a smile growing on his face. England stood and helped America to his feet, getting him back onto the makeshift bed. He stepped away and cleaned the blood off the floor, offering a clean wet rag to America, who used it to wipe his face clean before England took both rags and set them aside to be washed.

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning." England finally admitted. "I have to get back to Europe… back home. I need to check on my brothers and people…"

"Right… yeah. I know." America tried wiggling his toes and flexing his legs in hopes of forcing the numbness away. "I'll ah-… get that telegraph _thing_ up and going. I'll have to work something out with Canada's boss… whoever his boss is right now…"

"Hmm, yes… sorting that out will take some time, I know." England shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, glancing around the room, unable to meet America's questioning stare. "I ah… America." He finally met America's stare. "Will you be alright?"

America rolled his eyes. "Come _on_, England. I'm made of harder stuff than that-"

"I mean, _mentally_, you git." England frowned at him. "You're being invaded. Things like this affect you... not only physically, but mentally as well."

"I'll be _fine_." America reassured. "I won't do anything stupid."

He tucked his hand away, crossing his fingers.

"I promise."

* * *

Somewhere in Southern Russia

A door opened, and two men stepped into a sparsely decorated room.

"Where have you been?" Their superior officer demanded, standing up from behind his desk. "Four hours _late_ from your patrol-"

"We ran into a messenger from China, he had an important message-"

"Where is he?" The superior officer asked, frowning.

"An alien patrol ambushed us." The patrol officer admitted while the other restocked their ammo. "The messenger was shot through the head. Killed instantly."

"He didn't transcribe the message onto anything?"

The men shook their heads. The superior officer frowned and paced behind his desk.

"If this was important enough to be a verbal message only… did you know where he came from?"

"Only that he was sent from the front lines against the aliens with important information."

Their superior sighed in defeat, cursing under his breath at the invaders. He paused in his pacing and stared at the map spread across his desk.

"Increase patrols. And next time a messenger arrives, inquire where they were sent from."

The elder man frowned, a heaviness settling over him.

"Hopefully the loss of this information will not cause any deaths."

* * *

**Next Chapter: **_There's a time skip, America finds out who his new president is and where they're staying; the focus shifts to Russia as he becomes stranded during a blizzard and comes face to face with someone from his past._

Extra Notes

**1. Webley Revolver** - [Wiki] – "The Webley Revolver (also known as the Webley Break-Top Revolver or Webley Self-Extracting Revolver) was, in various marks, the standard issue service pistol for the armed forces of the United Kingdom, the British Empire, and the Commonwealth from 1887 until 1963. Webley service revolvers are among the most powerful top-break revolvers ever produced, firing the .455 Webley cartridge. Although the .455 calibre Webley is no longer in military service, the .38/200 Webley Mk IV variant is still in use as a police sidearm in a number of countries."

**2. Compound Depressed Skull Fracture** - "A Depressed skull fracture is a type of fracture usually resulting from blunt force trauma, such as getting struck with a hammer, rock or getting kicked in the head. These types of fractures, which occur in 11% of severe head injuries, are comminuted fractures in which broken bones are displaced inward. Depressed skull fractures carry a high risk of increased pressure on the brain, crushing the delicate tissue. Compound depressed skull fractures occur when there is a laceration over the fracture, resulting in the internal cranial cavity being in contact with the outside environment increasing the risk of contamination and infection."

**3. Concussion** - [Wiki] "A Concussion is the most common type of traumatic brain injury. Frequently defined as a head injury with a temporary loss of brain function, concussion can cause a variety of physical, cognitive, and emotional symptoms." Symptoms are, but not limited to: loss of consciousness, confusion, blurred and/or double vision, dizziness, difficulty balancing, temporary amnesia, etcetcetc.


	18. Chapter 18

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & mature themes.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:  
**Note:** Just wanted to repeat my warning from a few chapters ago about the story growing bleaker/darker. But as I said, things *will* get better. Trust me. :)

* * *

Early October

The numbness never left his legs. It remained there, from the knee down, an ominous warning of what might come if the invaders got their way.

America learned to deal with it and walk, despite not feeling the ground at his feet. His glasses, repaired with black electrical tape, sat perched on his nose. The wire frames seemed battered and beaten, but still held the lenses firmly in place despite the damage. It helped America feel better about his southern states… he knew they would be alright. They were stubborn, and would fight to the death to defend their homes… much like they did during his civil war.

After England left, America immediately headed back to his border with Maine, making sure to leave contact information with Newfoundland before he left. They crossed the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and passed through the Northumberland Strait until they beached on the shores of Kouchibouguac National Park in Canada.* From there it took 14 days of walking to reach his borders, but when he passed through them it felt like a breath of fresh air and an onslaught of pain all at once. The dull ache he'd felt in his chest and the numbness in his legs suddenly intensified, and he struggled to remain standing after the wave passed.

Maine paused to stare at him, worry filling her gaze, her eyebrows creasing together.

"I'm fine." America reassured, forcing himself above the pain. "Don't worry."

She frowned, but kept quiet, turning away and continuing their walk down the endless two-lane road.

After more weeks of travel, and leaving Maine behind to care for her people, he finally came to a stop at New York's _country_ home, as his home in New York City was obliterated from the flash. His chest stung at the thought of that city, one of his favorites, now in ruin, and he quickly shoved them away.

_Can't think about that. That's over and done with… the important thing now is getting to Area 51 where Tony's space ship is…_

New York came in with a bowl of freshly picked apples. His dirty-blonde hair, longer than America remembered, was combed haphazardly; his blue jeans and button up, long-sleeved shirt looking well used and stained with dirt and sweat.

"You came right on time." The teenager grinned despite the still healing scars on his hands and the eye-patch covering his left eye. "They just got in season and I've been picking them for the past few weeks now."

America took one, biting into it. Sweet and crisp, he chewed and savored the taste, silently wishing Russia or Canada were here to enjoy it.

_Mattie…I hope you're okay._

"... Dad?"

America looked up suddenly. "Ah- yeah. Um." He felt New York's stare on him. "I wanted to ask you about everyone… you've always been pretty well connected so…"

"Well…" New York pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. "We've gotten some of the old telegraph lines working again, but a lot of states are still struggling to get them up, so we still rely on the old horse and messenger."

"… Right." America allowed, leaning back into the chair and taking another bite of his apple. "Go on."

"The South's been really struggling with the invasion… but they're holding their ground. So far." New York tapped his fingers on the table, slowly counting the important issues off on his fingers. "The harvest this year was really good, despite the aliens trying to burn them all… so we won't need to worry about that. We're trying to get some of the old power stations back up and running, but so many of them were destroyed that… it'll take some time before everyone has power. A year if we're lucky… and that's pushing it. Uh… " He paused a moment, staring into the air blankly before realization dawned on him. "We've gotten the trains back up, but finding steam engines in complete working order has been… difficult. Most of them were in museums in the west so… "

"What about Nevada?" America asked, unable to contain himself.

"… Nevada?" New York raised an eyebrow at that, and hesitated and moment before continuing. "Uh, yeah he's been okay. He's actually doing pretty good… considering he only had four major cities that were bombed… why?"*

America bit his lip and glanced to Tony, who nodded in agreement. America turned back to New York and told him everything.

"Really?" New York gasped in surprise after hearing America's plan. "Will it _really_ work?"

"It's worth a try." America insisted. "If we can destroy their ships in orbit and their weaponry on Earth… then it'll only be a matter of time before we wipe them from the face of the planet."

"I haven't heard anything about Area 51… but… Nevada's always been pretty tight lipped about that so…" New York shrugged. "I'm sure he has everything under control. Oh, and before you run off, the president wanted to meet you. Ever since Alaska told her what you were doing, she's been wondering-"

"She?" America asked in surprise. " A woman?"

"Ah- Yeah." New York grinned. "Finally got a woman president… only took the end of the world for it to happen huh?"

America couldn't help but grin at that. "So… was she elected or…?"

"Nah. Took a few years for them to confirm who was alive and dead… and she wasn't sworn in until a little after you left for Russia. She was the secretary of Education, and just happened to be visiting her brother out in the country when the flash happened. She's with Nebraska right now, but in two months she'll be heading for Illinois. Security wants to keep her moving around, doesn't want her staying in one spot for too long… you know."

America nodded, making a sound of acknowledgment at the back of his throat.

"So… I guess I should meet her. Before I go to Nevada."

New York nodded slowly, crooking an eyebrow at him. "You better. At least tell her what's going on. I'm sure she'll be supportive."

America frowned and glared at the table. All he wanted to do was get to Area 51 as soon as possible.

"And her name's Roslin, by the way. Laura Roslin."** New York quipped. "I'm serious Dad. You really need to meet her. She had no idea about us… and you… _you know_... it took a lot of convincing, because we can't do that _thing_ you do… but after telling her about you, she's been wanting to meet you."

America sighed, but nodded reluctantly.

"Alright. I promise I'll meet her. But I'm only gonna stop by, I ain't staying overnight."

New York smiled and leaned back in his chair.

"Thanks, Dad."

* * *

Prussia stood in knee deep snow, shivering and clutching a rifle as he waited by a small country road.

"Damnit… he'd better get here soon." He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to keep himself warm. "Fucking West, making me stand out here like this… freezing my **ass** off-"

"_Must_ you give me a headache with your complaining?" Austria asked, rubbing at his throbbing left temple. "Estonia will arrive on time, as he has _always_ been punctual. Also, we still have…" Austria checked an ancient looking silver pocket watch, the glass cracked but the mechanisms still working perfectly. "Forty-five minutes until he is due to arrive."

"Why the hell did West send us out here two hours before he's supposed to arrive anyway? Not like there's aliens running around in this shit." Prussia questioned, shifting from one foot to the other to stimulate blood flow. "But he has to stay and study the notes Tony left behind…"

"Those notes _he studied_ gave us information about the _weakness_." Austria stated with an aggravated sigh, purposely not saying "signal", in case they were being listened too. "Which is why we're waiting for Estonia-"

"-because he's good with computers. I _know_." Prussia shivered and glared down the road from behind the line of trees. "I know."

The two stood in silence for a long while, breathing puffs of white vapor into the frigid German air.

"This information of Tony's better work." Prussia shifted, checking his loaded rifle for the sixth time in the last hour to keep boredom at bay. "If we pour our resources into this… _weakness_, and it ends up not working, then-"

"-then we will be overrun." Austria interrupted, his voice muted compared to Prussia's gruff tone. "The nations below the 45th parallel can only hold the invaders off for so long."

Prussia fell into silence, letting Austria's words wash over him. The forest surrounding them was quiet, save for the occasional breeze, causing the trees to groan and leaves to whisper. A distant clattering of hooves striking the snow came into focus. Estonia would be there soon. As much as Prussia didn't want to acknowledge it, Austria was right. The nations below the 45th parallel can hold the invader's off for now, but not for years on end. If something wasn't done immediately, the future held a grim outlook.

Prussia sighed and wished he had a cigarette right about now.

* * *

Mid-October

Wind howled through the trees and across the open meadows, lifting snow from the ground and flooding the frigid air, creating a blinding curtain of snow.

Russia paused in his steady walk, knee deep in the snow, and withdrew a brass and glass covered compass from his pocket. It was old, the glass cover cracked, the varnish peeling away, but it still worked, and it was very reliable. Brushing the snow from the glass, he peered at it and took a reading, pocketing it seconds later. Shrugging his shoulders, he moved his scarf up his neck, covering his mouth and nose from the frigid cold, despite being immune to its negative effects.

After leaving his sister's, he immediately left for St. Petersburg, and had been making good time, if not for the sudden blizzard. It slowed him considerably, and the blizzard was still blowing strong, despite it having been two days. Sighing, Russia glanced about him with a narrow look. General Winter seemed to be doing his fair share of slowing the aliens down in their northern invasion; but it could also be a double-edge blade, if this abnormal winter weather continued. His people knew how to deal with weather such as this… but if prolonged for an extended period…

Russia shook his head free of the thoughts, and resumed his slow pace. One foot in front of the other, pushing through the snow. It was only now that he regretted not having a pair of snowshoes with him.

Time passed slowly, with only the sound of the roaring wind and groans of tree trunks struggling to keep themselves upright.

A pale yellow glow appeared through the snow-blind. Blinking in surprise, Russia headed towards the light until a large, abandoned home came into view. Before the flash, it might have once been a lovely two-storm home, well-kept and beautiful. But now, at the looks of the damaged roof, broken windows, and snow drifts nearly engulfing the home, it looked to be abandoned. He looked for somewhere to safely enter the building, as the front door was buried under snow, and take advantage of the shelter to rest for another day of walking, as his legs burned and sleep weighed heavy on his eyelids.

A blast of wind suddenly hit in in the face, and it felt as if two great, old hands pushed on his chest, shoving him away.

Russia staggered backwards and wiped his chest free of the invisible force.

"I _need_ rest!" He shouted. "I refuse to sleep in this storm again!"

The wind blasted at him again, thick snowflakes striking him in the face. Russia raised his arm to shield himself and pushed against the storm, walking slowly, steadily to the kitchen window. Something grazed across his back, catching on the tails of his scarf and with a mighty tug, yanked him backwards. Russia fell back into the snow with a grunt and slowly raised himself back up to his feet.

"Just because I am immune to you _doesn't_ mean I _enjoy_ it." Russia growled through clenched teeth and threw himself forward pushing against the wind until he reached the kitchen window. "Even if it's only a single night, I want to sleep in warmth."

Forcing the window open, he lifted his right leg, stiff from exhaustion and frigid cold, lowered it through the window and into the kitchen sink. Lifting himself up, he pushed through the window frame, sitting on the edge of the sink before sliding to the floor below. Turning, he slid the window shut and with the wind locked out, now a mere whistling as it tried to enter the window, he sighed in relief. His skin tingling as the layer of numbness fell away, he looked around. The kitchen was small, the cupboards barren of food. Checking the stove, he found it to be in complete disrepair and was utterly unusable. Frowning, he reached into the pack hanging from his shoulders and withdrew a piece of dried meat. Snapping a piece off, he put the larger portion back into his back and stuffed the smaller bite-sized piece into his mouth, sucking on it until it grew soft enough to chew.

Keeping his loaded rifle in hand, he crossed the kitchen and entered another room. It looked like it might have once been a dining area, but the table and chairs were smashed to pieces, and what hadn't been burnt in the fireplace was still stacked in the corner. Dust and cobwebs filled every inch of the home, it seemed. Russia couldn't help but think of America and dislike of the eight-legged creatures. A terrible longing filled his chest, and he paused a moment, letting his thoughts return to that last night they spent sleeping, warm and soft, surrounding him with his arms and burying his face into America's hair.

A sigh escaped then, and he forced himself back to the present. Turning away, he left the dining room and entered another; books covered the floor, the destroyed remains of shelves shoved into a corner. Thick drapes covered the front window, a thick layer of dust turning them stiff and discolored. The air was stale and dry. The house settled suddenly, the floors creaking. Russia clenched his rifle and held himself steady, straining for any unusual noises. A tapping sounded, followed by the tell-tale creaking of floorboards.

Footsteps.

Breathing deeply, Russia turned to the stairs where they could be seen through another doorway. Crossing the distance, and placed his foot on the first step and listened. More creaking, the heavy thuds of footsteps sounded from upstairs. Glaring, his mouth settling into a thin line, Russia headed up the steps, taking each one carefully and silently. Outside the wind howled and roared, each gust growing stronger with each passing second. Snow flew in through the broken windows, piling onto the floor below and into the rooms. Cresting the stairs, Russia turned and stepped into the long hall to the right. A closed door stood at the end, flickering candle light glowing through the crack under the door. Clutching the rifle, he rechecked the ammo-clip and started down the hall. His boots sounded heavily on the wooden floor, nearly deafening in the muted silence.

Taking a breath, he gripped the door, flung it open and pointed the rifle at the figure.

It was a woman- no, a girl – that stood behind a large desk, covered in papers and blankets, facing away and staring into the snow-white blindness outside. Her dress, a pale blue, was torn and bloodied, mended and re-mended. Strawberry blonde hair cascaded down her back, but not long enough to cover the gun holstered at her waist. She lifted her head; Russia raised the rifle and pressed his finger to the trigger. It was one of his own, a girl, living and breathing.

But, she was by herself, her family most likely dead. She may be alive, but… damaged.

"Tell me who you are." Russia stated quietly and firmly. "If you reach for the gun, I will shoot you. Understand?"

The girl shifted, her fingers tangling in the hem of her dress.

"Yes… I understand."

Her voice struck a deep chord and a wave of déjà vu washed over him. _That voice… Where..?_ He shook the feeling away and refocused. Exhaustion having whittled away his patience, Russia frowned.

"Turn around." Russia ordered, his voice taking that low, commanding tone. "And tell me who you are. Now."

The girl tilted her head, the wavy hair moving across her back, and stepped around. Her pale skin was bruised around the face and arms, her strawberry-blonde hair dull in color.

"Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna."

* * *

"_I won't come down. I __**won't**__!"_

_"Anastasiya…"_

_Russia sighed and peered into the tree where the youngest royal daughter had perched herself._

_"Your mother is worried. She doesn't want you climbing so high-"_

_"So she sent __**you**__, Ivan?" Anastasia pouted through an annoyed glare. "Olga always ruins my fun…and Tatiana-"_

_"-loves you very much, Nastenka." Russia interrupted. "Your whole family loves you."_

_Her face fell, and she turned away. Silence passed between them and Russia took it in stride, enjoying the calm solace and mid-afternoon song birds nesting in the trees._

_"Ivan?" Anastasia called, breaking through Russia's inner solitude. "Do you love me too?"_

_Russia blinked, the question sinking into his consciousness. Did he love her?_

_**Love**__?_

_His people were unhappy, political unrest surging through his lands…a warm feeling, uncurling itself deep within his chest. Something was going to happen. He knew it, felt it…he just didn't know what…or how. But… despite everything else…_

_He turned his eyes back up to Anastasia, who was now frowning and shifting slightly at the prolonged silence._

_"I care for you, Nastenka." Russia reassured. "As much as your family does."_

_But I don't love you….I cant. Because the future is so unclear… I cannot allow myself to care too deeply… otherwise…_

_Anastasia, seeming happy with his answer, smiled and shifted forward. Her foot slipped, and she fell from the tree, shouting in surprise. Russia surged forward, eyes wide as he held his arms out and caught her effortlessly. Gasping in surprise, Anastasia peered up Russia for a long moment before smiling happily and wrapping her arms around his neck._

_"You caught me!" The young girl exclaimed with a smile. Gently, she pulled away and let Russia set her on the ground. "Thank you."_

_Russia smiled easily, being alone in the courtyard without prying eyes._

_"Ivan?" Anastasia called again, grasping his huge hand with her tiny one. "Will you always be there to protect me?"_

_Russia faltered, pausing in his slow, steady walk before forcing himself to continue._

_She was a child… a young girl who had no clue of how long he'd lived, of how many battles he'd fought in, how many royal families he'd watched kill themselves for power._

_What to tell a child who asks such a complicated question?_

_Swallowing, Russia forced himself to turn his gaze down to the girl who barely reached his knee. Smiling weakly, he gently squeezed her hand._

_"I will do my best."_

She was the same…and yet different. This girl that stood before him with her fair skin, blue eyes and strawberry blond hair. Her clothes were plain and dirty, the seams unraveling and tearing apart.

The window pane behind her buckled and rattled in its frame, the outside wind howling against it. General Winter was right in avoiding this abandoned home. _I should have heeded his warnings…_

"Don't you remember me-?"

"Remain where you are." Russia ordered, his voice firm and low, despite the painful clenching within his chest.

She stopped in her tracks, peering at him for a long moment before placing her hands on the desk.

"What is _wrong_ with you? It's me, _Anastasia_-"

"_Don't_." Russia interrupted again, his voice growing deeper, anger seeping in. "Anastasiya...has been dead for nearly a century."

His hand tightened on the rifle. The mask slid into place. Numb and unyielding. Shoving away the trembling he felt with her eyes on him.

"You are _not_ her." A pause; and the rifle he clenched pointed at her head. "And never _will_ be… **agent**."

The girl touched the edge of the desk, her fingers rubbing against its surface. Her blue eyes wavered and shined, tears spilling over.

"Why are you doing this?"

"_Do you love me?"_

"Are you going to shoot me?"

_"Will you always be there to protect me?"_

Russia stared at her, bits of memory flashing through his mind suddenly and forcibly.

_"Ivan! Look-" Anastasia smiled, now a young pre-teen, and held up the end of Russia's scarf. "I fixed it."_

_Russia blinked down at her in surprise and touched the end of his scarf where she mended a long tear._

_"You did not have to do this, Nastenka."_

_"But when you came back-…it was torn." Anastasia's face melted into worry, her smile falling away. "Your clothes are always torn and frayed when you come back… you…you do not spend as much time with Alexei and I anymore…and… father… he spends so much time working and…"_

_Russia stared at her, who at eleven, still barely reached his elbow. Reaching out, he placed a heavy, gloved hand on her tiny shoulder and squeezed in what he hoped was reassuring._

_"Do not worry, Malenkaya." Russia squeezed her shoulder again and using his first two fingers, bumped her chin upward. "Everything is changing… but… you have no need to fear for me. Understand?"_

_The girl looked up at him, her eyes large and glassy. Nodding, she blinked and hardened herself._

_"I understand."_

"Why?" Russia parroted, his eyes narrowing. "You are _nothing_ but an alien agent."

"Ivan-"

"**Do not** call me that." Russia growled. "You have _no right_ to use that name."

The girl shifted, her fingers still touching the edge of the table.

"You are…going to shoot me?" The girl asked again. "Even after everything you've already done to me?"

"Who sent you?" Russia asked, trying to change the subject. "Where are your superiors? Your base of operations?"

"Why are you doing this, Russia?" The girl asked again, refusing to give up. "Why can't you just see-…"

"See _what_?" Russia demanded, his patience running paper thin. "I see nothing but an alien trying to weaken me by using what little _it_ knows of my history and people."

Anger filled him and threatened to spill over the mask he kept forced in place. How _dare_ they use the image of one of his past royal family members, desecrating her memory and image in their foolish hopes of _getting under his skin_. It would not work. He was old, and knew better than to let his emotions control his actions, as his rare emotional outbursts were often violent and unthinking, and later he would regret his actions. When he was alone with only the warmth of vodka sliding down his throat for company. He would not let that happen. _No matter what_.

Russia blinked, and suddenly America was standing before him.

His former resolve faltered in surprise and his hand clenching the gun lowering somewhat.

"Will you shoot _me_?" America asked, his hands never leaving the edge of the table. "Will you kill me?"

A long silence stretched between them. The blizzard outside roared and slammed into the window.

His eyes were as blue as he remembered. Clear and unyielding, baring himself for all to see.

_America lay sprawled beside him. Sheets rumpled and twisted about his legs. Moonlight spilled through the cracks and seams of the heavy curtains, splashing across his bare chest and naked hip. Russia ran his fingers over the scars adorning America's body. Old ones, important ones… painful ones and regretful ones. His history symbolically displayed across his body. Twisted, deep, burnt scars vastly out numbering the older scars having long healed._

_The flash._

_It marked them all. No one escaped the invasion unscathed. Their cities obliterated by the alien nuclear attack. Hundreds of thousands, millions, billions… their people…their citizens… so many dead in the first wave. Even through all the death and pain, darkness and doubt- all of which adorned their bodies as trophies of survival- America still held that inner __**shine**__. The same shine that drew him closer, peaked his curiosity, leaving him wondering, wishing and wanting for more._

_And now they were separating for their own countries._

_America shifted and opened his eyes, naked of his glasses. He glanced at his chest, where Russia's fingers were still moving over a long, deep scar, and turned his eyes upward, their eyes meeting. Silence passed; America tangled his left leg over Russia's right knee._

_The grandfather clock chimed in the outside hall through their closed door. It was five AM._

_"We should get up." Russia moved, but America clung to him._

_"Don't."_

_America curled an arm around Russia's neck, threaded his fingers through his hair in the process, and drew him closer._

_"But…" Russia tried weakly. "The others…"_

_"Stay with me." America pleaded. "Just a little longer…"_

_"We can't…they…"_

_Their lips pressed together, and Russia melted into him._

But...they were not the eyes America showed him when all others were gone. Something moved in their eternal depths, twisted and dark, foreign and alien.

It was not America.

"You won't." America smirked. "You can't."

Russia kept his left hand posed in the air, gripping the rifle, his finger firmly planted on the trigger. His right hand moved at his side and touched the 44 magnum at his hip. It's weight and feel grounded him, strengthening his resolve.

_"This gun is really important to me."_

Russia raised his eyes to him, meeting the other's gaze with ease.

_"So you'd better return it to me when we meet again, okay?"_

"You are an agent," Russia stated finally. "And you know nothing."

Russia straightened his left arm, now growing tired from holding the rifle in the air for so long, and re-aimed the gun at America's head.

America smiled.

"Wrong."

And suddenly he lifted a double-barrel shotgun hidden under the massive pile of papers on the desk, aimed it at Russia and pulled the trigger.

The next thirty seconds was a blur of pain, sound and motion. Two explosions shook the room, blood sprayed across the window and walls. The alien fell to the floor, finally revealing its true self. Grey skin and a smooth head full of twitching tentacles, all curling and twisting, resisting death. Russia fell against the wall, his right leg giving out and he collapsed to the floor. Gasping, Russia reached for the rifle but found it slid out of his reach. Radio static filled the room until the grunting hissing language of the aliens crackled to life.

_I should have known they had a weapon hidden…_

Groaning, he unbuttoned his coat, now ripped and bloody, and pulled it away. Buckshot. The heavy round pellets had torn into him and left his belly feeling more like ground hamburger than anything else. Feeling his right leg, he felt an entry wound, spilling blood onto the floor at an alarming rate.

_The femoral artery…_

Cursing softly, he gripped the edge of his coat, tore off a long strip and tied it around his right thigh, creating a tourniquet in hopes of slowing the bleeding. The radio continued to crackle loudly, the hissing language growing more alarmed by the second.

_I need to get out of here._ The blizzard outside roared, slamming into the windows. _If I can get back outside… General Winter will help me…he will keep them away-_

A door crashed open downstairs, distant footsteps and the hissing, grunting language of the aliens carried upstairs into his room.

Gasping, he slowly moved onto his side, gripping the 44 magnum at his waist and pulling it out. Holding it up, he aimed at the window, closed his eyes and fired a single shot. Glass shattered and snow-laden wind blasted into the room. The door to the room shuddered once and slammed shut. Something heavy crashed on the other side of it, aliens screeching barely registered over the roar of the wind. A long coated figure appeared, tall and old, with both hands pressed to the door. It appeared nearly solid from the head and shoulders, but slowly grew transparent, and then completely invisible from the knees down.

The man turned to him, revealing an ancient, grizzled face with eyes that pierced through ones' body, burning deep into the soul.

"Get up." General Winter prompted. "Hurry."

He dragged himself to the edge of the table, winced at the pain flooding him, and grasped the edge with two hands. Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself upward with arm strength alone, grunting at the exertion, and finally got his good left leg under him for support. Planting his left foot to the ground, he straightened.

The general watched him move. "The window-"

Gunfire exploded on the other side of the door. Wood splintered and gave way, the gunshots going through the wood, passing through the general without notice and striking the opposite wall. Aliens screeched in frustration and continued firing their weapons into the door while another slammed themselves against it.

Russia moved forward, using the desk for support on his bad right leg, and hobbled across the office to the large window. The edge of the window came into view, and Russia cleared the shattered remains of the glass away before holstering the magnum and gripping the edge.

"Jump." General winter demanded, desperation filtering into his voice. "Hurry."

Gripping the edge, Russia lifted himself up, pulling his good leg up and over the windowsill.

Wood splintered and cracked, and the door exploded open. General Winter faded with a puff of smoky mist. Aliens rushed into the room, guns blazing, screeching in alarm.

Russia pushed himself off the windowsill and fell through the air, crashing once through the frozen limbs of the tree before landing in hard packed snow. Groaning at the new set of bruises that were no doubt flaring across his back right now, he turned over and struggled to his feet. The muscles of his abdomen and right leg not working correctly, having been shredded apart by buckshot.

A heavy, black metal net fell over him suddenly, breaking the endless expanse of the white snow-blind. Cursing, he fell back to the ground from the weight and tore it away with a growled curse. Ignoring the pain of his leg, he forced himself to his feet, white-hot pain flooding him, liquid warmth soaking his right leg as he half-ran, half-limped through the snow. Gasping, he pressed a hand to his lower belly to keep everything in its place. Blood dribbled over his fingers and into the snow, creating a stark trail for them to follow. Searing cold and roaring wind surrounded him. Desperation drove him on, two invisible hands pressed at his back, keeping him upright as he struggled through the snow.

Gunfire erupted behind him, bullets whistled through the air around him. Dark shapes loomed ahead.

The forest. The one place that always kept him safe. Even as a small boy, if he needed protection, he would enter the forest and huddle in the snow at the base of a tree. Snow would surround him, a cold blanket of protection.

A bullet slammed into his lower back. Another struck his shoulder blade. He fell forward into the snow, groaning. Pain filled him, and Russia shook with frustrated desperation.

His body was dying. Being shot at point-blank with a shotgun, tearing open his abdomen and right leg… and now his back. The forest was so close…_so very close_… he could sprint there in seconds if only his legs worked. But…he still had the grenade in his back pocket. All it took was a single- _no_.

_I told America I would never do that…that…I would never end it all…_

Renewed with the remembrance of his promise, he drug himself forward through the snow, invisible hands clawed and tore at his clothing, urging him back up to his feet. Black and white spots flickered across his vision.

_No._ He bit his lip till it bled and focused on the dark shapes ahead. _I can't stop. I __**can't**_.

Two thin legs appeared before him, halting his trek. Glancing upward, he found aliens in environmental suits surrounding him. One raised its gun, turned it around in its hands, aiming the butt end at his face. Russia reached for the magnum, tore it from its holster and fired off a single shot before the alien rifle butt slammed into his temple.

_America…_

The monochrome spots all converged together, glittering and swirling across his vision until the world fell away.

_…I'll be waiting.

* * *

_

Somewhere on the outskirts of Rome

South Italy sat at a table inside a single room within a cabin-like home. It was old and in need of repair, but good enough for shelter and easily overlooked by the invaders. Stale bread sat before him on a piece of cloth. His legs hung uselessly from the chair, bruised and broken; his body grew weaker by the day. The aliens filled his southern lands, killing all that got in their way. He did all that he could to help his people, but now…

Now Northern Italy was the only one healthy enough to travel outside, to plan with the resistance forces and fight back.

The door exploded open, and Northern Italy rushed in, slamming it behind him. Gasping for air, he crossed the room and rifled through the cabinets, grabbing any food they had left the flinging it at the table. Southern Italy glared at him, and pressed a hand to his throbbing temple.

"_Damnit_- what the hell are you doing?"

His brother turned to him and slammed his bag to the table, throwing the food inside.

"We have to go."

"…Go?" South Italy stared at his younger twin. "Go _where_?"

"Away from here." He cinched the bag shut and reached for his rifle, checking the magazine before snapping it back into place. "…We have to leave."

Southern Italy narrowed his eyes at him. "…They've gotten _this far_ already?"

"They…" his brother faltered, his eyes growing glassy. "They bombed grandpa's buildings. All of them. They're…all gone."

The twins traded a look, filled with remembrance of their grandfather, sadness and muted acceptance, before Northern Italy melted and flung his arms around his brother.

"I tried- I _tried_, Romano!" He cried into Southern Italy's chest. "I _fought_ back…I didn't run away- no matter how badly I wanted too. But… it wasn't good enough…"

"**I know** you did." Southern Italy sighed and with great strain, lifted his right hand to pat his brother's back. "But…they still have a long way to go before they hope to…completely conquer us. They haven't reached Perugia or Firenze…"

"I…wish they didn't have to bomb our cities like that…and…the after-effects of the first invasion…the radiation levels were just starting to lower…" Northern Italy pulled away from his brother and furiously wiped his tear-streaked cheeks with his arm. "We could have rebuilt…and then they have to bomb _again_-!"

The door burst open, a solder came into the room, his face stricken. "Please- we have to leave! The longer we wait here, the better the chances of them capturing you two!"

South Italy frowned grimly and nodded. Frustration filled him, and he glared at his twin.

"_Fratello_… help me up…"

Northern Italy nodded, shouldered his rifle and looped his arm under his brother's arm-pits and hefted him to his feet. The two stumbled across the room, with North Italy trying his best to keep his brother from collapsing to the floor.

"Get the wagon ready." North Italy asked the soldier, who nodded once rushed away. "We'll use that the escape north...alright?"

"Right- fine." South Italy relented, growing light headed at the physical exertion of merely walking across a room. "Damn…fucking aliens. I'm so…_sick_ of this shit."

He couldn't help but think of Spain, and how he'd carry him to the wagon, regardless of complaint.

After crossing through the doorway, the wagon rolled up, skidding to a halt before them. The two slowly helped each other into the back of the wagon, both lying down before North Italy covered them with thick canvas fabric. More soldier's filled the wagon for additional protection, and with a crack of the reins, the wagon jolted forward.

"_Fratello…_" North Italy started, his voice muted. "Do you think…we'll be okay?"

"…_Huh_?" South Italy twisted to meet his twin's worried gaze. "What…are you talking about?"

"I mean… if…if the invader's keep coming and…we can't hold them off… will we be-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" South Italy glared. "Of _course_ we will be fine! They won't capture us. They _won't_. You understand?"

He'd rather retreat and hide with that_ potato bastard_ rather than be captured.

"…Really?"

South Italy nodded, still glaring at his brother. "But…I can only do so much, you understand? You're the one that's stronger now…" It hurt to admit it, he hated having to depend on his brother for anything…but when it came to their safety… "I only have you now."

North Italy nodded firmly, his eyes hardening with determination.

"I'll protect you, _fratello_."

* * *

**Next Chapter: **_News of Canada and Russia's capture spreads across the northern hemisphere; America meets his new president and heads for Area 51._

Extra Notes

**1. They crossed the Gulf of St. Lawrence, passed through the Northumberland Strait until they beached on the shores of Kouchibouguac National Park in Canada.** - Descriptions of each in the order they appear: [Wiki] "The Gulf of Saint Lawrence (French: golfe du Saint-Laurent), the world's largest estuary, is the outlet of North America's Great Lakes via the Saint Lawrence River into the Atlantic Ocean. It is a semi–enclosed sea, covering an area of about 236,000 km2 (91,000 sq mi) and containing 35,000 km3 (2.8×1010 acre•ft) of water (…)The Northumberland Strait (French: détroit de Northumberland) is a strait in the southern part of the Gulf of Saint Lawrence in eastern Canada. The strait is formed by Prince Edward Island and the gulf's southern and western shores (…)Kouchibouguac National Park is located on the east coast of New Brunswick, north of the town of Richibucto. The park includes barrier islands, sand dunes, lagoons, salt marshes and forests. It provides habitat for seabirds, including the endangered Piping Plover, and the second largest tern colony in North America. Colonies of harbour seals and grey seals also inhabit the park's 25 kilometres of sand dunes."

**2. "Uh, yeah he's been okay. He's actually doing pretty good… considering he only had four major cities that were bombed… why?"** - Nevada has only a handful of major cities. The largest being Las Vegas, Reno, Carson City and Elko. The other areas are small, rural, desert mining towns. Nevada only has a population of about 2 ½ million, meanwhile California is nearly 37 million.

**3. "And her name's Roslin, by the way. Laura Roslin."** - I couldn't help but add her to this, because, well, she's one of my favorite characters in the BSG series. Her part in this will be minor, and will probably only appear once, so for those who don't like OC's, you have nothing to worry about :)

**4. Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna** - Here's more info that I didn't include last time. [Wiki] "The Tsar's children were raised as simply as possible. They slept on hard camp cots without pillows, except when they were ill, took cold baths in the morning, and were expected to tidy their rooms and do needlework to be sold at various charity events when they were not otherwise occupied. Most in the household, including the servants, generally called the Grand Duchess by her first name and patronym, Anastasia Nikolaevna, and did not use her title or "Her Imperial Highness." She was occasionally called by the French version of her name, "Anastasie," or by the Russian nicknames "Nastya," "Nastas," or "Nastenka." Other family nicknames for Anastasia were "Malenkaya," meaning "little (one),"[7] or "shvibzik," the Russian word for "imp." (…)Living up to her nicknames, young Anastasia grew into a vivacious and energetic child, described as short and inclined to be chubby, with blue eyes[8] and strawberry-blonde hair.[9] Margaretta Eagar, a governess to the four Grand Duchesses, said one person commented that the toddler Anastasia had the greatest personal charm of any child he had ever seen. (…)While often described as gifted and bright, she was never interested in the restrictions of the school room, according to her tutors Pierre Gilliard and Sydney Gibbes. Gibbes, Gilliard, and ladies-in-waiting Lili Dehn and Anna Vyrubova described Anastasia as lively, mischievous, and a gifted actress. Her sharp, witty remarks sometimes hit sensitive spots."

**5. Fratello** - Italian for "Brother". I got this from online (and playing assassins creed 2) so…hopefully this is right?


	19. Chapter 19

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & mature themes.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

* * *

Somewhere in Northern Germany

Germany sat cross legged before the alien computer console and pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing it for a moment before leaning back. A sigh escaped, and he re-focused onto the glowing green screen.

"…They have Russia."

Prussia glanced up from a stack of notes all written in his young brother's clean script.

"What?"

"Russia. They captured him."

Estonia paused in his tinkering of a small radio transmitter discovered in the ruins of a nearby city. Prussia stared at Germany for a long moment, disbelief mixed with grim acceptance flooded his red eyes.

"…Russia?"

"_Russia_."

Estonia calmly put his tools down on the wooden table he sat at and twisted in his chair to face Germany. "When?"

"Yesterday." Germany crossed his arms over his chest. "Two months ago they captured Canada… and now they have Russia. They are the colder, northern areas… areas we _thought_ safe and relatively low in alien activity."

"They are taking risks." Estonia admitted in a quiet, even tone. "Doing something like that…it looks more reckless than anything else."

"If they were able to capture both Canada and Russia with this coming winter predicted at being the worst one in the past 100 years… than we all must go 'off the grid'." Germany sat up and clicked at the keyboard. "Aliases should be used, and we shouldn't remain in one place. The same goes for the others-…" Germany focused on the screen suddenly, peering at it for a long moment. "The captives they have scattered across the globe are being gathered to the equatorial headquarters…and will be shuttled to vessel 19 in orbit."

"_All_ of them?" Estonia asked, eyes wide with surprise.

"All of them."

"When?" Prussia asked. "How long do we have to get this signal running?"

Germany pulled away from the console, stood, and crossed the room where Estonia was sitting.

"Two months."

Estonia shook his head. "We'll need more help."

"Austria is busy with Switzerland, the Italy's and Hungary in defending their borders and land… Spain and Portugal are too busy defending their coastline and keeping the western Mediterranean under control… Iceland and England are too far away to make it in time…" Germany frowned, eyebrows creasing as he mentally went over all other nearby nations. "Maybe Denmark, Belgium or Netherlands?"

Prussia stood and offered Germany paper and pencil.

"Write a message and I'll send it out to them."

* * *

Belarus stared at the telegram clutched in her fingers. Ukraine stood trembling beside her, her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking silently.

"When…" She started softly, breathless with emotional shock. She quickly swallowed and started over. "When did this come in?"

"Three days ago, miss." The elderly operator frowned, lines of worry wrinkling his forehead. "Are you two going to be alright?"

Belarus grabbed her sister's hand, stuffed the telegram into her thick coat pocket and nodded firmly. "We will be fine. Thank you."

Turning on her heel, she dragged her sister from the telegraph office and outside into the frigid snowy environment.

"First Matthew…" Ukraine sniffed and wiped her tear streaked face with her fingers. "And now…_Vanya_…"

Belarus's breath hitched; eyes stinging, she squeezed her sister's hand and stepped into the horse drawn carriage, pulling her sister with her.

"Vanya will be fine." Belarus stated firmly, angrily. "He is strong. They can never turn him into _one of them_."

"But _Natasha_…" Ukraine gasped, prying her hand from her sister's bone-crushing grip and pulling a thick blanket over them as Belarus took up the reins. "He's in _space_…in _orbit_…how can we hope to rescue him?"

"I will talk with Toris…and we will be communicating with Germany and the others." Belarus explained in short, angry tones. She cracked the reins and the horses jolted forward, dragging them and the carriage back home. "For now, we must be strong. Vanya said he would be fine. Remember? He promised us."

Ukraine nodded, fresh tears already streaming down her face at the memory.

"And… America will help too."

"Really? He'll be able to help?"

"I think so." Belarus stated, tightening her grip on the reins and shifting her legs, feeling the knife sheaths digging into her thighs. "He knows that alien friend of his, Tony was it? He can help America get Russia back. For now…we must be strong. We can try to help his people as much as we can."

_…if he knows what's good for him.

* * *

_

Late October

"-And I want to increase production by 25%. That includes the wind farms as well. How are the repairs on them?"

England walked down a wooden walkway, the sloop standing behind him, currently being cleaned and restocked for its next voyage. Ocean waves crashed into the hull of the ship and shoreline. Scotland walked beside him, and raked a hand through his messy, brown hair.

"The repairs for the off shore wind farms have been…difficult. To say the least."

"They're harder to defend from attack too." England sighed. "And the onshore wind farms?"

"Scout Moor and Braes of Doune are up and running. Cefn Croes and Hadyard Hill are nearly finished in repairs." Scotland explained with satisfaction. "Wales has been working on coordinating repairs for the remaining wind farms and other power plants. I've been dealing with the remaining alien forces still here."

"How many are gone?"

"Around 70% of them. Another month or two and they should completely eliminated."

England smiled. "The channel patrols are holding up?"

Scotland nodded once, and after a moment's hesitation, took a breath and glanced back to England.

"I've heard of Canada."

England turned to him in surprise. "How-?"

"Germany." Scotland stepped off the docks, England following beside him as the two of them entered a small, shore side town. "Sent the news over telegraph six weeks ago."

The two fell into silence, neither one wishing to speak of it. Buildings passed by, children played and adults worked. Evergreen fields eventually surrounded them. Distant trees and old weather-beaten fences lined the dirt road they walked down. Songbirds filled the trees, their song floating over the salty-sea breeze.

Finally, England took in a deep breath.

"Those _bastards_ were willing to attack a large town in order to draw the twin's attention." England frowned and glared into the distance. "By the time I got there… they already had Canada in their ship and took him off into orbit."

"So it's true then? They want the twins for the same reason they want Russia?"

"No one is safe." England growled. "Not if they're becoming _that_ desperate."

"And what of Alfred?" Scotland asked, casting a weary eye over his younger brother. "How did the boy take it?"

England sighed. "Do you have to ask?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "Made the git promise me he wouldn't do anything _idiotic_, and to have him come _here_ after he gets Tony's ship."

"Will he keep his promise?" Scotland wondered as the two of them walked up to a small building, hidden away in the trees.

"He'd better." England growled, a warning in his voice as he opened the door and entered. A desk sat in the corner of a simple, one-room office. Electricity hummed in the wires, the tell-tale beeping filling the air of the telegraph. "Any messages for Kirkland?"

A man, older with graying hair and the beginnings of a beard forming along his jaw, looked up. "Ah- yes. Kirkland you said?"

England nodded and stepped up to the desk. The man stood from his chair and twisted around, flicking through a file-system until he came to the designated folder. It was old and used, as everything was now, and he withdrew a small stack of telegraphs.

Thanking the man, England turned and walked back outside where Scotland was waiting. He flicked through the telegraphs, many of them messages from various European nations from the continent, reporting of military, agricultural, civic and other various matters and problems they faced. One message, however, was marked in bold **URGENT** lettering…and encrypted with an old code from the last world war. Frowning, England pulled the urgent telegraph from the stack and peered at it, silently putting the letters and words back into their respective places.

_Russia Captured as of 20 October 2019 __**STOP**_

_Sent to vessel 22 in space __**STOP**_

_Other Captured Nations sent to equatorial HQ __**STOP**_

_Possibly ENROUTE to vessel 19 in space __**STOP**_

_**FULL STOP**_

England breathed and let his hands fall to his sides. Blood drained from his face, turning pale with realization.

Scotland stared at him for a moment before tearing the telegram away from him and reading it. Eyes widening with surprise, Scotland turned his gaze back to England.

"Of all the nations for them to capture… I never thought they would get _him_."

England nodded once, grim realization striking squarely in the chest. Sea breeze ruffled his already mussed hair, and caressed his face.

"Do you still have my _chest_."

Scotland raised an eyebrow. "Of course I have your sea chest. It was unloaded and sent to-"

"The _other_ chest."

Silence overcame his elder brother for a long moment. Lips turning downward into a tight frown, eyes narrowing, Scotland glared at his younger brother with a critical eye.

"You can't. It's too risky."

"They won't find out!" England growled in frustration. "They don't even know what magic _is_!"

"But what if they find out _'what it is'_?" Scotland countered. "What if they find out you can do things few others can dream of? They'll go after you next, just like they did to Russia and the North American twins!" Scotland shouted to England's back as he stormed away. "They're after China right now, did you know _that_?"

England slowed, and glanced over his shoulder.

"Yeah, _China_." Scotland stated, walking closer to him. "He's had to cut all communications and go into hiding. The only one able to contact him is Japan, and even still…"

"If they're able to get China, then we all should go into hiding." England turned back to the road and started into a steady walking pace. "For now, I'm going to _do it_. Either come with me or stay behind."

Scotland huffed in annoyance and started forward, pocketing the telegraph in his jacket.

* * *

Early November/Somewhere in Western Illinois

"Go inside and tell her I'll be a minute. I need to check something." America waved Tony away, stepped over a barbed wire fence and into an overgrown meadow.

Tony narrowed his eyes at him. "Why the fucking secrets?"

"Just go, Tony! I'll be there in a minute!"

Tony sighed, cursing under his breath as he turned and headed inside the telegraph building situated in the middle of overgrown farm fields and meadows.

America walked steadily through the field until he came to an open area beneath an ancient looking oak tree. _Finally…_ He allowed himself to clutch the layered, textured bark, leaning against it before sliding to the ground. Sighing in relief, he breathed deeply for a moment before sliding his jean, pant leg up his calves, to his knee. Gripping his left boot, he sucked down three deep breaths before yanking his boot off with a single, mighty heave. Pain ripped up his leg; biting down a shout, he gasped at the ebbing, throbbing pain on his left foot.

_Damnit…__**damnit**__…_

Swallowing, he finally turned his head down to look.

His foot was bloody and sore, covered in burns and burst blisters. The bandages soaked through with fluids of a various nature. Eyes stinging at the throbbing pain and cool touch of the breeze, he sighed and let it breathe for a long moment before steeling himself for the ordeal of cleaning and redressing. Digging through his pockets for another roll of cotton bandages, he untied the knot keeping the old ones in place and peeled each layer away. Throwing the old bandages away into the weeds, he pulled out a bottle of clear sanitizer fluid he'd found a few days back. It was way past its shelf life and probably didn't work worth a damn, but it was still worth a try, as most other medical fluids and gels were utterly gone. Setting the bottle beside him, he picked up his water canteen, screwed the cap off, sucked in a deep breath and poured half the contents over his foot. Hissing at the stinging sensations, he crossed his leg over his right, keeping his foot posed in the air and off the ground, and using a small towel, gently patted his foot semi-dry. The burning sanitizer fluid came next - _fuck that hurts fuck-fuck-fuck-__**fuck**_ - and then he wrapped his foot in the bandages, tied them off and after cleaning his boot out, stuck it back on.

He repeated the same process for his other foot and after sitting for a long moment to gather his strength, hauled himself back to his feet. They throbbed and burned in protest, but he set his jaw, ignored the pain until it was only a pleasant burn in the back of his mind and walked back across the field, over the barbed wire fence to the telegraph building. Pausing before the door, America prepared himself for the next ordeal, _dealing with my new president_, and opened the door. A small lobby stood before him, a desk in the corner in front of many rusted filing cabinets, a telegraph operator sitting at the table, reading the incoming messages, transcribing them to sheets of paper and giving them to his assistant, a young boy of about nine, to be filed away. Another door stood at the opposite end of the room.

_She must be in there._

Tony stood from his cross-legged position on the floor and shoved a file-folder full of telegraph messages at him. "Here. These are all for you."

America took them, flipped the folder open and started going through the telegraphs. Many urgent updates of invader activity from his southern borders and coastlines…_nothing new there_… Updates on resources and production of various materials from many of his states… and something from Europe. _They must have gotten everything fixed._ America pulled the European telegram from the stack and found it to be in an old code England has used in the last world war. Frowning, America slowly decoded the message in his mind, putting the letters and words in their rightful place. Putting the last word in place, he stared at the message dumbly for several seconds, unbelieving.

_…Russia…was captured? He's in orbit with…Canada?_

The weight of realization fell upon him like a hammer to an anvil.

_This can't be right…__**Russia**__ was captured? But… of all people… I thought they'd get me first… that… they could never get to him. That he would never…_

The telegraph machine, the beeps of the messages, the sound of the low discussions between the operator and his young assistant, Tony standing before him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed… all fell away to a distant place in the back of his mind. A low, hot hum started in the back of his head, and America gripped the messages to keep the trembling in his arms from taking over. Russia was captured and sent into orbit. And unlike Canada, they didn't have to wait for the _his twin_. They could start on him immediately.

_This can't be happening…__**damnit**__-!_

"Alfred F. Jones?"

The weight of his full name brought him back to reality. Blinking in surprise, a middle-aged woman stood before him. Petite and fair skinned, her long hair was an auburn brown, showing glints of deep red in the waning sunlight. An old dressy outfit covered her small frame, a deep blue knee-length skirt, heels and a white button up top covered her. She stared at him, her eyebrows raised in a questioning manner.

"Are you Alfred F. Jones?"

America blinked at her and suddenly put the telegram back into the folder.

"Uh- yeah. I'm Alfred. Are you…?"

The woman nodded, a slight smile on her face. Stepping away, she waved him to the now open doorway and stepped inside the other room. America sucked in a calming breath and walked inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Well, Alfred…I have heard a lot about you from the others."

"My states?"

The woman sent him an awkward look before nodding.

"Yes…that's what they told me. And they also said that you were…America. As in…the United States of America?"

He nodded and held his hand out. "It's nice to finally meet you."

The woman stared at his hand for a moment before turning back to meet his gaze, smiled and took his hand to shake. A pause, and her eyes widened, mouth parting in surprise.

"I…I had no idea…I thought… I didn't really believe it but…"

"It's okay." America finally smiled. "Usually it's the leaving president that tells you about me, but… well. Now you know."

She nodded, eyes still wide and moved to sit down.

"The states didn't have that same effect on me…?"

"Only I can do that." America shrugged. "I dunno why. All the other nations are like that, though."

"Oh, yes… Alaska told me you went with Canada and Russia to Europe?"

America felt something within him shudder at their mention.

"When I woke up, everything was crazy. I went to find my brother- Canada, and we met up with Russia, who helped us travel to Europe to find out what was going on."

"So…" She paused for a long moment. "What exactly is it…that you do?"

"Mainly just international relation stuff… Before the flash…I would've attended meetings with some of the other nations, like the G20, the G8… and bring back notes and a report on what we discussed. I also help with internal stuff with my states."

She nodded, and beckoned him the opposite side of the room where an older couch sat. America followed, and sat down beside her. The next forty minutes was spent telling her what he found out, including attacks and issues Europe and other areas of the world faced. The discussion consisted mainly of talk about the invaders, with America telling her about the confiscated computer console that was in Germany's protection, the information they found out from it, and the plan they came up with, and finally, Canada and Russia's capture.

The president laced her fingers together in her lap and mulled over this information for a minute. Time crawled by, and America found himself fidgeting until she finally lifted her head to meet his gaze.

"While I am surprised about your…_friend_ you met back in Roswell… but…" She sighed. "This is the only way?"

"It's the only thing we can think of to beat them. If we shut their network down, we can turn everything off. The ships in orbit will no longer be able to supply their troops on land. And then…if will only be a matter of time before we defeat them."

The president stood and wrung her hands, pacing around the room. "I just… if you're captured-"

"Nothing will happen." America quickly explained. "Nothing they do to me will affect our land or people…I'm only a _receiver_."

"And that's supposed to make my decision easier?" She glared at him. "You have been through so much… and everything that has happened… and all the presidents you have worked with…the amazing people you had the chance to talk too… if something happens to you, you're states… despite everything that has happened, they deeply care for you. Knowing all of this…" She pressed a hand to her hip and touched her forehead. "I don't know…"

America felt his chest tighten at the thought of her telling him he couldn't go through with his plan. Jumping to his feet, he crossed the room and grabbed her hands, being mindful of his strength.

"…Laura." America started, and looked her straight in the eye. "I made a promise to someone that I… really care about." _That I love._ "And even if you tell me no… I'll go anyway. Because… they have my brother… and…I can't…"

The white hot humming returned. A trembling filled his limbs, and he squeezed her hands delicately.

"I have to go. I have to fulfill that promise I made… because he's waiting for me."

She gazed at him, searching his true-blue eyes for a lie but found nothing but sincerity. She didn't seem surprised at the off-hand mention of Russia. Apparently Alaska had told her more than he thought.

"You really would go against my orders, wouldn't you?" She continued to stare at him, her eyes still searching. "At least you're honest."

America raised his eyebrows, a hopeful question resting in his stare. The president shook her head and sighed, tugging her hands away. A rueful smile came to her face, and she nodded.

"Alright. You may go."

America grinned and opened his mouth, but the president pressed a finger to his lips.

"But if you get captured… I want you to promise to do everything in your power to free yourself… and if possible, the other two as well." Her voice lowered to a commanding tone, her face growing hard. "Understand?"

America stared at her, surprised at this suddenly fierce change in personality. A slow smile came to his face.

"I promise."

* * *

"Are you positive they won't find out?"

"For the hundredth time, _yes_, they won't find out."

England clutched a bag of salt and delicately poured it in a large circle. Inside the circle was a small fire with white chalk markings surrounding it, ancient runes that few could read, along with spices and ingredients sitting beside the fire.

"I'm only being careful." Scotland frowned and stood before the closed door to prevent anyone from entering. "Their technology is ages ahead of our own… there's no telling what their sensors might pick up."

"I know." England sighed, irritation filtering into his voice. "But I refuse to just sit here and do nothing while the two of them are captured. There has to be _something_ I can do to help."

"What are you planning to do anyway?"

"I'm going to try and make a mental connection to Matthew. I would do Russia as well, but all I have as a physical connection to him is a pair of gloves he left here during a meeting a decade ago. It's only enough to reach him to plant a spell or curse, but not enough to make a mental connection."

"So that's what Matthew's clothes are doing here?" Scotland asked. "Did Francis ask for any reasons why you wanted them?"

"No." England finished the circle and after muttering a string of the older language he once used, stepped inside the circle and sat down cross legged before the fire. "He knew better."

Scotland locked the door and crossed his arms, knowing to remain silent when England started a spell.

Gripping a coat and scarf, England ran his hands over them, remembering their texture and feel before finding a stray hair. He plucked the hair from the fabric and after a second of whispering, threw it to the fire. It flared and burned up, a thin stream of black smoke rising from the fire. England closed his eyes and gripped his knees with the palms of his hands. He took deep, calming breathes, picturing the young nation in his mind, feeling the weight of his old clothes in his lap, the heat of the fire filling him to the brim. Electric sensations touched his skin and scalp, the air grew thick and heavy, weighing upon his shoulders, draining him of his inner energy to form the connection. A mental snap, a hiss and burn of wood in the fire, and the connection formed.

_Canada._ England projected his thoughts. _Can you hear me_?

A mental shift, a wave of confusion, and then realization.

_…England?_

_I don't have much time. The magic won't last long._ England quickly explained. _Are you alright?_

_...For now..._ Pain filled the connection. _I'm in a room with medical equipment… they won't do anything to…__**prepare**__ me yet for the joining.. I guess… until I'm fully healed. So I've been… purposefully reopening my wounds. I've been trying to slow the healing down but I really have no control over it…_

_If I did something to help you, could you free yourself? Could you escape?_

_They have me chained up now._ Despair, fear, a wave of desperation. _And even if I got free, I would never be able to get out. Not with the power on…_

_If the power were out, and all systems were down, could you escape then?_

_Probably…yes, I think so. There would be too much confusion. But these chains… I could never get them off._

_Good. That's fine._ Relief; a wave of hope. _Russia was captured. Have the aliens mentioned anything about him?_

Waves of surprise and fear flooded the connection. _They have __**Russia**__? If they have him then they'll most likely start the minute his wounds heal… and no. They haven't mentioned him at all._

_So you can't free yourself? At all?_

A mental sigh. Hesitation.

_No. I can't._

_Then… I'll have no choice but to purposefully slow your, and Russia's, rate of healing. I'll have to curse you two…_

_A __**curse**__?_

_Yes. A curse. I'll curse you and Russia, so that you will heal a slightly slower rate than humans. That should give us enough time to help free you and Russia, and prevent the aliens from working on you two. Understand?_

Conviction. Acceptance. Relief.

_Understood.

* * *

_

Mid-November

The stark, musky smell of sage brush filled the air as America stepped off the passenger rail car onto the dirt below. Cold, crisp wind blew through the tiny town, looking almost untouched from the aftermath of the flash, save for the barbed wire and scrap-metal fence erected around the town. Snow covered the surrounding mountains, but the desert valley floor was barren, the plants a rusty gold. Tony stepped off the train behind him, covered from head to toe in a thick coat, boots, and a rifle slung over his shoulder. America shivered and zipped his thin hoodie sweatshirt up to his neck. A freight supply building stood directly before him, including a smaller office building turned passenger station for the rail-line. Many people remained on the train to head to the coastline; only supplies from other states were being unloaded.

America stepped away from the tracks through the rail-yard and into the empty street, void of cars and instead filled with hand carts, horses and oxen. A handwritten sign, showing the telegraph office, was posted in a large glass window of an old, brick building. America stepped inside, checked for any telegram messages. The operator handed him a stack, many of them from the president, others still from his states, giving the usual reports of food, resources, military, civic, and other issues that were reported and needed to be dealt with. One was from _Nevada_ himself, stating where he would be for the next two weeks, and that he had information to help him on his way. Telling the operator where to forward his messages too, he turned away and exited the building.

The next four hours were spent securing a team of two horses, a wagon, water, food, and a fresh supply of ammunition for the long journey south across the great basin desert. America jumped up into the wagon, taking hold of the reins while Tony took shotgun directly beside him, gripping his rifle and keeping a sharp eye out for any invaders. The journey was long and, surprisingly, quiet of alien activity, save for a few small scouting groups. The expansive desert valley floors, and the jagged mountains provided little water, save for the tiny, hard to find streams formed from the melting snow. Fresh springs were remote and hard to find, and the plant-life provided little nourishment.

_The aliens like warm, wet places… and without water or food, this place must be of little interest to them…_ America smiled. _So __**that's**__ why New York said Nevada was doing well… the aliens are forced to remain near water, and the people use that as a trap to kill them._

A week passed, and they finally came to the town of _Ely_, where Nevada said he'd be helping with the copper mining operations there. America stopped the wagon at a gas station, now turned a feed station for animals, thanks to the scarcity and rarity of gasoline. America paid a teenager who was grooming and taking care of the horses, picked up his pack and bag.

"Excuse me," America started. "But I'm looking for someone."

The teenage boy stepped away from the horses. "Who are you looking for?"

"He's about your age, brown hair, helps with the mining here? His name is Carson?" America paused at the boy's confused stare, and after a moment, sighed in defeat. "He smokes like a chimney and drinks a lot?"*

Realization dawned on the boy's face. "Ohhh _that_ guy. Yeah, I just saw him a little while ago heading to the rail-yard down the street."

America thanked him, turned and started down the small side street, rolling his eyes all the while. After a few minutes, the large, old fashioned railroad station from the turn of the century came into view. A steam engine was just visible at the right corner of the building, the stack belching out a mixture of steam and smoke. A few men stood at the engineer's post directly behind the engine where the operator drove it, including a young teenager dressed in hand-made clothing.

"No-no, that goes _here_! _Not_ there! If you do that the pressure will rise and the engine will explode. You want to keep it around here!" The teenager turned to another older man who was covered in dust and dirt. "Have you found someone to fix that water pump yet? If we don't get that fixed soon the mine will fill up with water and we'll have to shut everything down-"

"Carson?"

The boy paused, and turned around. A youthful, tanned face stared back. His brown hair a messy light brown, the boy wore a set of hand-made pants, dyed a dark blue, and a white button-up shirt turned a dusty brown from the hard labor. He smiled, and delicately withdrew the cigarette from in-between his lips.

"So you finally made it! How was the trip?"

"Ran into a few groups of aliens, but they're taken care of now." America narrowed his eyes at the cigarette. "…Do I even want to know where and how you got that?"

"Same old Al huh? Hating my 'bad habits'." Nevada grinned. "Just give me a moment here, I gotta take care of this and I'll tell you how I can help."

America nodded and stepped away, giving his state the extra time. After a moment, Nevada waved at the men and returned to America.

"First, California gave me a box of these."

"Oh _really_?"

"Yeah, she started growing a little tobacco in addition to farming, because she needed the money." Nevada turned to Tony and grinned. "Hey! Long time no see?"

Tony glared at him. "My ship had better be fucking safe, understand?"

"Of course it's safe!" Nevada frowned at him. "We had a deal, remember?"

"Over gambling." America couldn't help but add. "Because he was able to beat you in a round of black jack."

"That's right." Nevada nodded. "I made a promise. You're ship is safe…for now."

Tony's eyes widened. "For now? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Well…" Nevada stopped walking and turned America and Tony. "The aliens have set up a temporary outpost in Area 51. They've been trying to get inside the base for the past couple years now."

"_What_?" America gasped. "How in the hell are we supposed to get inside with hundreds of them parked on the base?"

"That's where I come in." Nevada nervously raked his fingers through his already messy hair. "See…uh… remember that whole Cuban Missile Crisis thing?"

" Yes." America raised an eyebrow, his eyes un-amused. "I remember. Seeing as _I_ was the one who was _dealing_ with the whole _thing_."

Nevada raised his hands in defense. "Well, uh, I kind of added an escape tunnel from the complex without asking for your permission."

America's eyebrow's rose into his hairline. "…What?"

"It's just, you and Russia were being really fuckin' scary and I wanted to add it just in case world war three happened and-"

"_Okay_, okay." America sighed and rubbed his temples in an attempt to prevent an oncoming headache. "Just what is this escape tunnel? Is it an obvious tunnel or-"

"Well, I didn't want just _anyone_ to find it, so I had it made to look like an old hard rock mine."* Nevada motioned with his hands, his dark blue eyes turning hopeful. "That way if someone stumbled upon it, they'd think it was an abandoned mine shaft and turn away, not knowing it's actually an escape tunnel from the base."*

America stood in silence for a few long moments, eyes narrowed in thought as he mulled over this. "And the aliens haven't found it?"

Nevada nodded firmly. "They also haven't been able to get inside the underground complex. The people inside have it all locked down tight, and they haven't been able to get in at all. The blast doors are strong enough that if the invaders try and use explosives, they'll risk destroying everything inside. So they have to try other methods…and they've all been failing."

"Good." America felt hope rise in him. "How soon can we get there?"

_So close…we should get to Tony's ship in no time.

* * *

_

"Well?"

Estonia looked up from the rack of car batteries the group had assembled to provide power for the experiments and stared at the close door where the alien console was moved. Belgium stood over a desk full of notes, all scribbled in a variety of languages, but most of it in Germany's immaculate, bulleted handwriting. Prussia and Denmark took the first round of watch for the night.

Germany glared at the captured electronic equipment and stood, opening the door that separated him from the others.

"Nothing."

Estonia cursed and stood, returning to the small, older computer he managed to put together through various parts he found and collected on his way to Germany. Belgium returned to the notes, going over the mathematical computations for the hundredth time. After checking each one, she rubbed her eyes and leaned back in the chair.

"Everything is correct, I don't understand why it isn't working."

"There has to be _something_ we can do to make it work." Germany flipped through the piles of paper on the desk, pulling up the older, yellowed sheets in Tony's handwriting. "The theory Tony wrote down in his notes is plausible in all aspects."

Estonia stared at the old, green and black computer display, the cursor flickering at the end of several lines of mathematical computation and lines of text. Multicolored wires came from the rack of old car batteries, all twisting and coiling together until they went through different power supplies, through the wall into the opposite room where the transmitters sat, pointed at the alien electronic equipment captured from a recent raid by Austria and Hungary. Estonia stared at the long coiling wires, all emerging from the battery's as a seething tangled mass, only to be funneled into a single source.

Eyes widening, Estonia whirled around. "Let me see those notes."

Germany handed them over, and Estonia nearly tore them from his hands and flipped through them. "…Here!" He pointed to a line of hastily scribbled text at the bottom of the second paper. "Look at what he says- _'central cores defense code relies on multiple firewalls._'" The two stared at him for a long moment before Estonia explained. "What that means is that, the core- the processor, the _brain_ -uses dozens upon dozens of firewalls to keep enemies from breaking in. It _doesn't_ put any effort into a self-defense once the firewalls are broken."

"…they never expected to have their firewalls broken. With the nuclear explosions wiping out the main cities, industrial and commercial centers, they never expected anyone to get this far." Germany turned his teal-eyed stare from the yellowed notes to Estonia's excited, wild-eyed face. "…Their own _arrogance_ will be their downfall."

"Which is why our single bursts of the signal _isn't_ working." Estonia explained, motioning to the old computer sitting behind him. "The central core is smart enough to immediately destroy the signal virus we send, no matter how powerful and smart we make it. _But_- if we give it a **self-replicating** ability, and then we repeat the signal itself over and over again, the virus will invade their systems exponentially, and render the central core's poor defense programs useless."

"That's it!" Belgium smiled, eyes widening in realization. "We can cut the power usage in _half_ by doing that."

"I'll start recoding if you rewire the systems, Ludwig." Estonia dropped the notes back onto the table with Belgium while he returned to the keyboard, fingers flying across the keys.

Germany said nothing, choosing to turn cut the power from the batteries and pull out his tool kit.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **_America & Tony, with the help of Nevada, find the hidden escape tunnel and finally go inside the underground complex of Area 51. With all power out and the human crew nowhere to be seen, the group races against time to get Tony's ship out of the defunct military facility before the alien's cut their way inside._

Extra Notes

"**He's about your age, brown hair, helps with the mining here? His name is Carson?" America paused at the boy's confused stare, and after a moment, sighed in defeat. "He smokes like a chimney and drinks a lot?"** - First of all, it's my head canon that "states" or other territories/provinces/etc have their official names, but then their real name is either based off a person important to their "area" or based off of their capitol. Nevada's name can be both, as its capitol city is "Carson City" and an explorer/frontiersman "Christopher Houston "Kit" Carson" is also important to Nevada's history as well. And of course, not all people in the state are like that, but a good percentage of them are. [some extra info, fyi] Nevada is known for its high rate of people who smoke (this also goes hand in hand with gambling addiction, drinking and driving incidents) 2) Nevada's political history is deep with bad politics. There have been many instances of voter fraud, black mail, sex scandals… (you name it, it's probably happened) and 3) Nevada has a rich history of dealing with the Italian mafia out of New York. Las Vegas and Reno were used to help raise money for the organization in New York. The mob was mostly kicked out in the 60s and 70s… or _were_ they?

**The Signal** - Just thought I'd clarify this, but the "signal" is pure science fiction [like this fic :)]. I used bits and pieces of real info, but just kinda mashed it all together.


	20. Chapter 20

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & mature themes.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

**Note:** This chapter is unbeta'd.

* * *

Late November

After Nevada took the time to check on the train engineers and miners at the copper mine, the group left the small town of Ely and traveled south. With each passing day the air steadily grew cool and crisp, the dry winter of the desert coming into full force. Flocks of birds flew south in great numbers, coyotes and mountain lions coming down from the frigid, snow-capped mountains in search of food. Local plant life gradually changing from the lush sagebrush and forests of pinyon pines to the dry, alien-looking Joshua trees - their bark in leafy layers, their leaves thick and sharp, all narrowing to a point - of the Mojave Desert. After reaching the small town of Rachel, where people were still holding on, despite their close proximity to Area 51, the group traded their horses in exchange for food, water, candles, and a heavy supply of ammunition for their clips and magazines. Leaving on foot, the trio woke at dawn, ate a cold breakfast and hiked all day, stopping only when the sun fully set behind the distant, jagged mountains.

Thanksgiving eventually came, and America found himself celebrating with dried meat, roasted pinyon pine nuts and boiled water from a nearby spring. Tony peered at the nuts, turning the unfamiliar item over in his hands.*

"Just _try it_ already." Nevada urged, crunching a roasted nut for added effect. "They're already roasted, so they're not as bitter as they normally are."

America sucked on a piece of jerky, chewing slowly and steadily. "He's always like that."

"Suspicious of everything?" Nevada frowned and readjusted the pack he used as a pillow. "Where's the fun in that?"

Tony sniffed the nut, and took a tentative lick before pushing it inside his mouth, chewing it slowly to savor the taste. Nevada stared at him for a long moment.

"…Well?" He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it on one of rocks being used to border the fire, before taking a long drag. "How is it?"

"…Peanuts still taste better."

"Everyone's a critic." Nevada shrugged, placing the cigarette in between his lips to the far right side. "So Dad-" Nevada started, turning to America who was staring pointedly at the cigarette perched in Nevada's mouth. "We'll finish crossing the Groom Mountain Range tomorrow, _if_ we get up early, we should get to the entrance before noon."

"How long is this tunnel you built?" America frowned, remembering the candles they bought. "We were only able to get five of them, and each one only lasts about three to four hours."

"It's…ah…around…ten miles?"

"Ten…ten _miles_?" America gaped at him. "How in the **fuck** did you get the funding to build a ten mile long tunnel? A _mining_ shaft of all things?"

Nevada smiled and shrugged. "Oh I just pulled a few strings here and there…"

"Please tell me it didn't come from the mafia out of Vegas."

Nevada delicately pinched the cigarette between two fingers, withdrew it from his lips and exhaled slowly. America sat up, anger filtering into his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"God _damnit_ Carson-"

"_Please_ dad, why are you flipping out about this right now?" Nevada rolled his eyes and flicked the collecting ash at the end of his cigarette into the fire. "The point is that I was smart enough to have it built, and now it's helping us get inside-"

"-You had it built _without_ my permission, with funding from a _criminal organization_-" America sighed and rubbed at his temples in anticipation of an oncoming headache. "Fuck, I can't deal with this right now."

"Dad-_Dad_- look. Calm down." Nevada gestured, his cigarette leaving a trail of smoke from in-between his two fingers. "You can bitch at me all you want later, but right now that tunnel is going to help us get inside the underground complex _without_ the invaders noticing."

"_Fine_, whatever…" America sighed, giving into the young states logic and sunk down to the dry, desert floor, using his pack as a pillow. "Wake me up, okay?"

Nevada returned the cigarette to his lips, drawing in a deep drag, holding it for a moment before releasing it with a relaxed sigh. Reaching over, he placed an old rifle across his lap, silently taking the first watch.

"Sure thing."

* * *

America awoke with a strangled gasp. Sweat coated his forehead and dripped from his hairline over either temple.

"Oh god…" Cradling his face in his hands, he forced his gasps to slow, calm, even breathes. "Fuck…"

The nightmare still haunted his memory. Images filling his mind's eye, the smell still in his nose, the feel still clung to his skin.

A sterile room with beeping, electronic devices all around. Chains surrounded him, forcing him into the stiff bedding. Tall, faceless personnel surrounded him. Recording the electronic beeps and numbers on the dozens of glowing orange monitors. Another walked into the room, taller than the others, grey sterile clothing covering the thing from head to toe, sending the others into a flurry of movement.

A pause, and the faceless person lifted a large, hypodermic needle. Another presented him with a glass vial of red liquid.

The needle was injected into the glass vial, drawing an excessive twelve ccs of the red fluid. The faceless doctor prepped the needle, turning it upside down, flicking it and pushing any remaining air bubbles from the fluid, and focused on his- _no, __**Canada's**_ -arm.*

The world shook, _Canada shaking his head_, the arm jerked away. Support staff rushed forward, wincing at the shouting- _Canada's shouting, lapsing in and out of French_ -and forced him still; his arm clenched and squeezed by multiple hands. The needle struck, pressing deeper into his flesh, the liquid forced inside him. Burning, itching, his flesh crawled as the nerves in his arm went numb and traveled upward, spreading into his chest until it flooded his entire body, his heart helplessly pushing the liquid through every artery, vein and capillary. The room went blurry, dim, then dark, his eyelids falling shut. The world fell away, his body lulled into a forced chemical sleep-

America jumped up and stormed away from the camp. Raising his hands to his head, fingers dug into his damp, sweaty hair. The cold night air contrasting with the jittery heat filling him. Gasps were torn from his throat.

"I didn't mean to I swear to god-" America gasped once the camp disappeared behind a large group of Joshua trees. "It was supposed to be _me_, **I** was the one who was supposed to be there- not you…never you..."

A crumbling wall came down within; America stumbled once before falling to his knees and slamming his fists into the hard packed desert earth.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, **fuck**-" Gravel and dirt fell away, rocks cracked and shattered on impact. "I hate you. I **fucking** _hate you_-!"

He sucked in a gasping breath and choked; hot tears filling his eyes and streaming past his cheeks. A shudder, and America collapsed forward, his bloodied knuckles pressed into the hole he created. He sniffed, trying to ignore the snot starting to spill from his nose and gave into a wracking, silent sob. Fresh tears spilled, his glasses slipped from the bridge of his nose, and a heavy weight at his hip fell away. Swallowing, he sucked in a deep breath and picked himself up.

Russia's side arm, the TT-30, lay in the dry desert earth, shining in the moonlight.

Picking it up, he quickly wiped the dirt off the polished barrel and handgrip in a habitual manner. The gun felt heavy, _heavier_ than before.

_"Rescue? Even if they take me into orbit…on their ships?"_

America turned the gun over, his fingers running along the length, the weight a soothing memory, drawing him out of the emotional confines of his youthful, uncontrolled hysteria.

_"It would be hard, it'd be difficult, but… god damnit I would __**find**__ a way up there and get you out. I don't know how you can just say you'll press the button so easily… there's always hope. __**Always."**_

He sat up, spine straightening.

_"I...__**expected**__ your death. I __**hoped**__ I was wrong."_

Fingers clenched around the gun, and America turned his gaze skyward. The wide expanse of the sky stretched before him, beautiful and glistening even under the light of the full moon.

"Ivan didn't give up on me…and I won't give up on him _or_ Matthew."

White hot anger erupted; his limbs trembled, his eyes narrowed in conviction.

"I promise."

* * *

The Next Day/Two Hours Before Noon

Nevada gripped a piece of sun-beaten plywood and shoved it aside. Cobwebs and dust flooded the air, giving way to a dark mineshaft. Wooden planks connected together with metal links, bolted together and forming a framework in keeping the mountain rock from giving way and collapsing. Tony held out a candle while America plucked his glasses off and concentrated the sun's rays directly onto the candle wick. Minutes passed, the wick smoked and with a little urging puffs of oxygen from Nevada, burst into flame.

"Alright. The shaft is pretty straight forward. It goes down for about a quarter mile before evening out. From then on it's a straight shot."

America and Tony nodded, and followed the young state into the dark mine shaft. The open, breezy air of the wide desert valleys and distant lines of mountains gave way to a heavy, cool air. Voices no longer carried over great distance, the earthen walls projecting silence. The ground turning damp and muddy, groundwater seeping upward as the tunnel grew deeper. Darkness behind them, before them, the flickering candle barely providing enough dim light to surround them.

Hours passed in this fashion, walking steadily; Nevada checked the wooden supports periodically, and after a moment of scrutiny, appeared satisfied with the construction and moved on. The candle was replaced once, Tony pulling another stick out and lighting it with the flame of the older candle, until the candle could no longer be held, the dribbling wax running across America's hand. Finally, a metal surface came into view, covered in dust from the tunnel.

"This is it." Nevada declared, stepping closer to the door and inspecting the keypad. "…There's no power."

America forced himself to take a deep, calming breath. "Can we open it manually?"

"Yeah, the door is kept shut by a compressed air system. We should be able to get to it if we get the keypad off-"

America switched the candle to his left hand, raised his right hand to the keypad, clenched his fingers around it and snapped it off with a grunt. Wires and circuit boards came into view. America tore them away with little resistance, and a pair of two small plastic tubes appeared. Glancing back to Nevada for confirmation, who nodded shortly, America turned back, hooked two fingers around the wires and tore them away. A hiss of air, a metal lock sliding open, and the door sagged. Nevada gripped the door and tugged, but it held fast.

"Damnit- dust must have gotten into the hinges…" Nevada reached around to his back and tugged free a large pick-axe, hooked the end of it into the door crack and with a mighty heave, tugged the door open.

Mental scrapped against metal, and a pitch black interior came into view.

Returning the pick-ax to his thick leather belt, Nevada stepped inside, America and Tony following. "We're on the north side of the complex. The aliens are at the far south side, trying to get in through the blast doors."

"Right…" America kept the door to the tunnel open and flicked the light switch on and off. Nothing came back, the room remained blanketed in darkness, save for the candle providing a dim, flickering light.

Nevada turned around, facing America, and frowned. "We should have power… there was multiple back-up power systems in place. The main one from the grid, then the line from geothermal plant up north, the line from the Hoover dam, and the solar panels installed in the mountains and on the roof of the top-side buildings."

"Unless the people inside here manually turned everything off."

Thoughtful silence prevailed, awkward glances shot to each other.

"My ship is on the other side of a blast door, sealed and unable to open without power." Tony gripped his rifle, slung it off his shoulder and chambered a few rounds, breaking the lengthening silence. "In order to reach my ship, the power must be turned on."

"I know, but there must be a _reason_ for them to turn the power off." Nevada reasoned, his tone thoughtful. "Everything here is powered and controlled by computer electronics, _but_ they're kept hard wired and off the network, just in case someone attempted cyber warfare."

America remained silent as the exchange went on. He glanced around the room, and found many emergency supplies still in their respective places. Old flashlights, short-wave and two-way radio sets, medical supplies in sealed boxes… everything untouched and covered with a thick layer of dust.

"If it's hardwired, and there is no fear of someone hacking into the system, then why turn the fucking power off?" Tony questioned, eyes narrowing in annoyance. "It would make sense to leave it on."

"Plus… the summer's here are brutal. Without power, this whole facility would turn into an oven." Nevada's frown deepened as he racked a hand through his wild, tangled locks. "If they left, it-"*

"They never left." America declared, turning back to face them. "They stayed here, but turned the power off to fry the computer's, rendering them useless."

"…to prevent the aliens from getting the data being stored on them?" Nevada questioned, his voice quiet.

"Look around. If they left, all of this would've been gone." America sighed, shuddering realization striking him squarely in the chest. "They stayed here… and did their job."

_Like they swore to do._

Nevada fell silent; his gaze, glassy with unshed tears, fell to the floor. Swallowing, Nevada took a gasping breath, anger filtering into his conflicted stare.

"They only had enough food to last for a few months…" Nevada swallowed and turned away. "It's been two _years_ since the aliens parked their **fucking** ships outside-"

"Shh~…" America shushed him and crossed the distance between them, curling an arm around his shoulders and chest. Nevada trembled, his body stiff, his fingers clenched into fists until he gave into the soft, comforting touches, turned and flung his arms around America, burying his face into his chest. America returned the hug and rested his chin on top of Nevada's head. The two stood in silence for a moment before Nevada withdrew from America's hold.

"I'll turn the power on." Nevada blurted before America got the chance to lay out a plan. "I know where they are and how they work-"

"No way." America snapped, interrupting Nevada's declaration. "You're going with Tony."

"The _hell_ I am!" Nevada shouted indignantly in an alarming similar fashion to America's past outbursts with other nations. "_I'm_ the one that got everything set up with all the back-up power systems in place. I know exactly how it works!"

"The power station is in the far eastern sector of the facility. _Closer_ to the main blast door, where, _if I __**remember**_, the aliens are." America growled, his tone turning sarcastic. "You're not going over there."

"You need to go with Tony, because _you're_ the only one strong enough to open that blast door, in case the electronics are completely fried due to the heat in the summer months." Nevada countered, jabbing a finger into the air at him. "I know the power systems by heart. I can manually turn everything on in a minute, while you would take much longer, and in turn give the aliens more time to get in!"

America glared at him and frowned. He turned to Tony and silently asked for his advice.

"Nevada's logic is fucking sound." Tony snapped, growing annoyed at waiting. "We're wasting time here, bastards."

"Yeah, we're _wasting time_, **Dad**. The longer we argue about this, the more time the aliens have of cutting their way inside." Nevada sighed in a condescending fashion. "I'll turn the power on, you open the doors, and then I'll come to you. Understand?"

America crossed his arms over his chest and mulled over the plan, trying to come up with something better, _something that doesn't have Nevada going off by himself, where I can't keep my eye on him, where I can't save him if something happens_, when a sudden explosion shook the room. Tall shelves tumbled over, the supplies sitting on them crashing to the floor. America grabbed Nevada to keep himself steady, as his legs were numb from the knee down, his feet lacerated and blistered from the southern states battling for their survival, and Nevada clung to him in return. After a moment, the room grew still.

Nevada released the breath he held and pulled away. A long moment of silence passed.

"Do you feel that?"

America peered at him in confusion. "Feel what?"

"That vibration in your feet? From the floor?"

_Oh._

"Ah- yeah, I feel it." America lied, not wanting to distress the young state anymore.

"They must have blasted it with some high level artillery or missiles or something to weaken the foundation…and are now trying to drill through it." Nevada swallowed audibly and bent to pick up a set of two-way radios, coordinating the channels before handing them out. "It must be a big fucking drill for us to be feeling it so far away."

America pulled his rifle from his shoulder, checking the magazine before snapping the safety off.

"…They never tested the door against drills, did they?"

"Not against drills of _that_ size!" Nevada exclaimed, his tone growing defensive. "When this place was built, everyone thought we'd be blown to hell thanks to one of your stupid-ass arguments with Russia-"

"Just turn the fucking power on, Carson." America interrupted, not wanting to rehash memories of the cold war again.

"Right."

America grabbed the boy before he left, gripping his shoulder in a painfully tight grip.

"Be safe."

It was more of an order than a request.

Nevada smiled, slapping his palm on America's arm in a reassuring action before shrugging him it away.

"I will."

* * *

Vessel 22/Low Earth Orbit

A cold, sterile, gray room surrounded him. The hum of electrical equipment, the beeping of the machine watching after his ancient heart, the growling, hissing mutters of the invaders, all surrounded him. Chains kept him prone on the bed, his ankles, wrists and neck _bare, void of his beloved scarf, his scares unveiled for all to see, the cold metal links pressing into his skin, old memories he forced himself to forget stirred, images and feelings of __**his**__ frigid blade carving into his skin, warm blood spilling, the heat of pain filling him to the brim, unable to move, trapped_ -the beeping increased exponentially and the aliens all rushed to his side, one plucking a hypodermic needle from a cabinet drawer, prepping, and stabbing it into the crook of his arm, directly into his blood stream.

Chemical induced calm filled him, his body grew lax, his heart slowed, his body turning numb as each nerve ending was blocked away. But the fear was still there, the old memories that haunted him still when time grew still, when he allowed himself to reflect on his past and always, _always_, he came back to that painful, dark time.

Shoving the memories back to the darkened corners of himself, he tried moving his arms and legs, but found them un-responding. He tried opening his mouth to speak, tried turning his head to look, but found it rooted in place. The aliens cut off the bandages on his wounds and inspected them, poking and prodding with metal instruments and gloved, curved fingers. Sharp jabs of pain flew up his spine, but no sound came from his throat. They muttered and hissed, until one that looked important, as the others seemed to gravitate around him, silenced them all with a hiss, and grunted at them in their guttural language, raising his hand to motion to the opposite side of the room. *

Russia tried moving his head to see where the doctor was pointing at, but found the muscles of his neck not cooperating. The aliens moved around him, disconnecting him from the wires and machines, moving him on the wheeled-bed across the room. Hands touched him, lifting him up and off the bed. His body felt stiff and languid all at once.

Fear suddenly filled him as the thought of them turning him into _one of them_ erupted within his mind.

_Is this it?_

Russia tried pushing the fear away, but his attempts were no match.

Thick, cloth straps surrounded him, keeping him standing upright in a metal, cylindrical container of some sort- a curved, class window was set into the front, giving him view of the entire room –and a breathing apparatus was pressed to the lower half of his face, covering his nose and jaw, much like the devices he used when flying one of his many beloved jets back home. _Before the world went to hell_.

The glass door closed, snapping shut, the air pressurized and oxygen breathed through the mask and across his nose and mouth. The aliens stood outside, staring at him as if he were a science experiment in a petri dish, and pressed a few buttons on a computer display nearby. The machine hummed, and blue water started flooding the container.

The curling tendrils of fear filled him as the frigid liquid, almost too cold to be water, filled the cavern. The liquid raised up his legs, past his knees, thighs, finally hitting his groin and rising above his waist until it was level with his chest, but the water kept rising, kept filling the container. All he could hear was the rushing, gurgling sound of water echoing in the tiny metal container.

_This is it, they're going to turn me…I can't move. I can't __**move**__._

He couldn't help but think of those back home. Of China and Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia… his sister's he cared for…and _America_… The water finally reached his neck, rising over his face and head, his hair soaking into the liquid and turning a dark platinum blond. A warm burn filled the areas where his wounds were bare and open for the water to touch and soak into.

It…it was _healing_ him. His wounds were slowly stitching back together, nearly equal in speed to his normal healing level. He couldn't help but feel relieved, but the extra time his open, slow healing wounds was giving was now gone. At the rate his wounds were healing, he'd have at least a day before they..._turned him_.

With his body turned useless from the drugs they injected into his blood stream… all he could do was watch, listen, and wait.

* * *

Area 51/Underground Complex

"How long do we have before they get in, Tony?"

"I can only estimate." Tony gripped a flashlight from the emergency supplies and clicked it on, lighting up the long hallway for America, who led the way, rifle in hand. "But I'll _"guess"_ anyway." Tony continued, already knowing what America would say. "The metal-ore used in the blast door, along with the extensive treatments and technology infused with it to prevent nuclear blast-scale explosions may hold up well against a drill of high capability. But…It all depends on the drill bit itself."

"So…?" America questioned, turning a corner to go down another pitch black hallway. "How long?"

"Anywhere from 10 minutes up to an hour."

"Ten _minutes_?" America paused to look back at him, his eyes wide. "Are you serious? It'll take ten minutes for Carson to just _turn the power on_."

"You asked me, and I answered." Tony snapped, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

America let Tony's attitude roll off him, as always, and continued on, his pace quickening to a running trot. Freeing one hand, he yanked the radio from his ammo-belt and clicked it on.

"Carson-" America started, speaking into the two-way radio. "We may have only ten minutes before they get in."

A pause, and then the younger states voice came in, the signal filled with static.

"_What_?" Silence; the static returned before America could respond. "Are you _shittin'_ me? _Ten minutes_? What the hell kinda drill does he think they have?"

"Yes." America turned the volume down, as it was echoing down the long, empty, dark hallways. "Don't bother with the local line. Only try the other two." America tried keeping it as vague as possible, just in case the invaders were listening in. "Understand?"

"Yeah, I understand."

They turned another corner, and the small hall opened up to a large, road sized walkway. Abandoned vehicles stood at either side of the huge hall, the tires flat and disintegrating into the concrete floor from the intense summer heat. The smell of leaking gasoline flooded the air, turning it into a toxic mixture. America put the safety on his rifle, not wanting to take the chance shooting something, whether it be accidently or purposefully, and turning the hall into an explosive chamber.

Walking around vehicles, trucks and compact jeeps, all covered with an inch of dust, they continued down the long hall until they turned right, continuing past open doorways and decaying informational papers and posters still taped to the walls. Entering a small doorway, tucked in the corner at the end of the long hall, a huge room opened up, revealing one entire wall a thick metal blast door. A keypad and control panel rested directly beside it.

"Arrived." America clicked the radio, speaking in short, vague terminology to keep the invaders from listening in and understanding. "Waiting for you."

* * *

Nevada stumbled to a halt, panting from sprinting for the last several minutes.

"I'm here." He gasped into the radio and shined the light on the door before gripping the handle and twisting it. "…It's locked."

"Bust it down." America's static-filled voice came over the radio.

Nevada stepped back, raised his booted foot and slammed it into the door. The metal door held tight, not budging an inch. Frowning, he slammed his foot into the door again, and then once more.

"What the hell…?" Nevada cursed in frustration and stepped closer, peering at the door frame. The metal looked changed, a raised line running around the perimeter of the door. He touched it, rubbed his finger across before dread settled. "…they sealed it."

Nevada tore the radio from his belt and clicked it on. "They _welded_ the door shut."

Silence, and then static filled the empty hall. "_What_?" America's voice came in that half frustrated, half hysterical tone. "They _welded_ it?"

"It's welded to the frame." Nevada peered at the door and turned around, facing the long empty hallway. "I'll have to go through the air ducts."

"Hurry."

Nevada returned the radio to his belt and turned to the ceiling. A plain white surface stared back. He walked down the hall, shining the light on the ceiling until it glinted off a metal surface. Running to it, he tugged the pick-ax from his belt and smashed it into the vent, tearing it away. Returning the tool to its rightful spot, he set the flashlight in his mouth, biting down on the yellow plastic and black rubber handgrip, and jumped. Gripping the edge, he pulled himself up and into the vent, the ductwork groaning from the additional weight. The metal square tunnel was tiny, just big enough to fit him with barely enough room to maneuver himself. Using his elbows and feet, he army crawled down the vent, inching forward at a slow pace, the metal bending and groaning with each move he made.

A vent came into view. He quickened his pace, and came to it. Deciding to lower himself feet first, he crawled forward and using his feet, smashed through the vent, sending it crashing to the floor. Lowering himself, he let his feet fall through, and then gripping the edge, inched himself down until he let go and fell to the floor, right on top of a lethal bear trap.

His left foot hit the trigger and the metal jaws snapped shut on his ankle, the teeth digging and stabbing into his skin. Something snapped in his ankle joint, and Nevada collapsed to the floor with a breathless shout of pain.

"Shit…_damnit_!" He gasped, dropping the flashlight.

Gasping, his eyes turning glassy from the onslaught of pain, he looked down and found his ankle and foot soaked with blood, the joint at an awkward angle. "Okay…okay…" He gasped, blinking the tears away and trying to force the pain from his mind. Reaching down, he gripped the teeth of the trap, and forced it open with a grunt, withdrew his foot and released the teeth. They snapped shut with a metallic _click_. Gasping, he looked around and found similar traps in various positions in the small room.

_They welded the door shut.. and trapped this room to keep people from turning the power back on? Things…must have been __**really**__ bad down here when the aliens first landed…_

"Why…?" Nevada gripped his pick-ax, shoved the away to the corner, and reached down his radio. "I'm inside." He refused to tell America what happened, knowing what the elder nation would do.

His ankle burned with pain, blood dripping to the floor in a steady flow. Breathing a deep calming breath, he used his good leg to move onto his knees, sitting up and moving across the floor to the electronic control panel. Gripping the flashlight, he shined it on the panel. Several controls appeared, all labeled. Ignoring the ones labeled as _main_ and _fourth backup_, he peered at the last two. _Second backup_ and _third backup_.

Pressing his fingers to the two switches, he clicked them on. A pause; the hum of electricity returned. Lights flashed on, illuminating the room.

"There…"

Nevada sighed and turned, collapsing to the floor and peering at the ceiling for a moment before turning his gaze back to his ruined ankle.

"It's done."

* * *

"Yes!"

America grinned as the ceiling lights flashed on and the control panel for the blast door lit up. Tony immediately pressed a series of buttons in a distinctive pattern before stepping away. Gears turned, metal groaned, and the door slowly, steadily lifted itself upward. America tore the radio back from his belt.

"Got it, Carson. Come on back."

Once the door raised itself high enough, America and Tony crossed the threshold and gazed at the new, huge room. The room was round with the ceiling, a set of two steel doors that opened horizontally, high enough to fit a ten-story building inside. Set off to one side was a series of desks, workbenches, computer equipment, metal tool chests, storage containers, and little objects littering the surface. In the center of the room stood a large, yet compact, space craft. Its surface shining like mirrors, the aircraft was angular in nature, its wings set back at a deep angle to offset the enormous two rocket engines set in in the rear. The nose of the spacecraft was long, giving it an aerodynamic shape needed for flying through air as well as flying through space.

Tony ran to it and threw open the hatch in its underbelly, wasting no time in prepping the spacecraft. America rushed to the work benches and dragged out a large storage container. Unlocking it, he threw it open, revealing his Johnson rifle he used throughout the last world war. It was a reliable weapon that saved himself from getting _"killed"_ multiple times. Gripping the rifle, he snapped a magazine on and took the others, shoving the ammo into the bag at his back.

"How soon until its ready?" America called, projecting his voice to reach Tony inside.

"The reactor is hot, so five minutes to check everything-"

A distant explosion shook the room, and alarms sounded.

"Shit!" America cursed. "They broke through!"

America turned away and yanked the radio from his belt. "Carson, the aliens broke through the doors. How soon for you to get back?"

Silence stretched on. America waited, pacing around the room. Nervous worry filled him.

"Carson, respond." America ordered, his voice turning harsh with fear. "Where are you?"

Silence; and then static returned.

"I'm in the power room."

America stared at his radio in anger. "What do you mean you're still in there? Why haven't you left yet?"

"…Ah…" Nevada's voice was hesitant. "I'm okay. Just go ahead."

_…What?_

"And what the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?" America nearly shouted into the transmitter. "Tell me the truth. Why haven't you _left yet_?"

Tony exited the space craft, a large square, wireless control panel in hand. He glared at America, his eyes narrowing.

"The room had bear traps in it." Nevada's voice came through the receiver. "I didn't see them as I jumped down. I stepped in one and my ankle is busted."

America clenched the radio and forced himself not to crush it in frustration.

"You can't get out?"

Silence; the static clicked back on.

"You need to leave, Dad." Nevada's voice was firm. "Just go. I'll be okay. The door is sealed. They can't get in."

"And you think they're stupid enough to _ignore the air ducts_?" America shouted. "I'm coming to get you."

"No don't-!"

America clicked the radio off and threw it to the floor.

"You can't go." Tony stepped closer to him. "We have to leave. The invaders will be here in minutes-"

America checked his rifle, clicking the safety off. "Then shut the door behind me."

"Idiot!" Tony finally shouted at him, his voice shrill with anger. "Remember the fucking limey! Remember what he said!"

"I'm not leaving him behind."

"They won't kill him! They won't-!"

"They **won't** kill him? _They won't_?" America wheeled around, turning on Tony. "Look at my fucking glasses! Look what they did to Texas! They did that to _weaken me_! Just like they've been attacking my southern states! All an effort to slow me down! To keep me from getting here! You don't think they'd kill him for the same effect?"

Tony gripped the control pad, his entire body shaking with angry frustration.

"I know what England said, and I _can't_ do it!" America shouted, his temper getting the better of him. "I can't be like him! I'm _not_ like him!"

"Fuck!" Tony screamed at him, unable to form a coherent sentence in his anger. "Pu, pu!"

"I'm leaving. Shut the door behind me, understand?" America opened another storage container, revealing a double barrel shotgun. Picking it up, he slung the rifle over his shoulder and stuffed ammo into his belt and bag. "If I'm not back in five minutes, leave without me."

America sprinted from the room and into the flashing lights in the hall.

Tony sighed, defeated, and pressed a button on the control pad. The large blast doors ground shut.

* * *

America ran down the hall, shotgun pointed ahead of him. Sirens screamed a continuous, single note, echoing and reverberating down the halls. Turning a corner into the huge roadway with cars rotting, alien screeches barely registered above the sirens before gunfire erupted. Bullets whistled past him as he slid behind a large vehicle that looked like a cross between a hummer and a truck. Toxic gasoline fumes flooded the air, threatening to erupt in flames with each new gunshot.

_They're going to blow the whole place up if they don't stop that shit!_ Anger filled him. _Let's see them stop __**this**__…_

Turning to the vehicle, he gripped the front bumper and with a mighty gasp, heaved the massive truck overhead. Turning once, twice, he used the building momentum and released the vehicle, sending it flying down the roadway into the aliens. A crash erupted, metal twisted and crunched, glass shattered and aliens screeched in pain. America used the pause in gunfire to run down roadway and turn down the side-hall. Gripping the shotgun in one hand, he yanked the Johnson rifle off his shoulder and held it in his other hand. Glancing back, he fire shots at the aliens who started down the hall behind him. Turning another corner, he threw himself into a sprint to put distance between himself those following him. Booted feet pounding the concrete floor, he ran past broken doorways and shattered glass. Another corner came, and another, he continued to sprint, adrenaline pumping through his veins, keeping him senses super alert and on edge.

The metal door came into view, along with Nevada, who dropped from the vent and crashed to the floor, shouting at he landed on his broken ankle.

"Damnit-!" He cursed in pain and rolled away, clutching his ankle. "I told you to leave!"

"Take this." America ignored him, shoved the Johnson rifle at Nevada's chest and pushed the bag of ammo on his shoulder, keeping the double headed ax and shotgun with him. Kneeling, he curled his arm around his back, under his armpits and lifted him upward, propping him against the wall. Nevada grunted at the weight on his bad ankle, but quickly shifted to his good foot. "I'm going to drag you. Watch our back."

Nevada gripped the rifle and moved the bag to his back, hooking his arms through the straps and lowering himself to the floor. "Right."

Gripping the strap on top of the backpack, America started a steady pace, dragging Nevada down the hall with one hand while wielding the shotgun in the other. The sirens continued to scream the long, single note as they rushed down the long hall and turned a corner.

Gunfire erupted, and America stepped back around the corner as bullets slammed into the wall.

"Always in our _way_-" America growled, tearing the backpack open and pulled out a grenade, angry frustration dripping from his voice and narrowed blue eyes. "-always shooting… _shooting_ and _**shooting**_… let's see how to hold up to this, bastards." He yanked the pin off, stepped out and flung the grenade down the hall. "Down!" America turned away and covered Nevada with his body.

An explosion followed, a ball of fire erupted and washed over the ceiling, setting the fire alarms off. The walls and floor shook from the blast as the military grade fire sprinkler's came on, spraying water into the hall, quickly turning it into a rushing river. America stood, grabbed Nevada and continued to run down the hall, his feet sloshing through the water noisily. Their clothes, hair, skin, and everything else was quickly soaked through and dripping wet, weighing them down.

"Behind!" Nevada shouted and fired America's rifle, a burst of gunshot at the aliens rushing through the water behind them.

Other aliens turned the corner ahead of them, screeching and forcing themselves through the water. They raised their guns and aimed, screeching at America, who ignored them and continued forward.

"More ahead!" America called out, raising his shotgun and firing it into the chest of one alien, racking the slide single handed, and with a twist of his wrist, firing again into another.

The air was nothing but a cacophony of gunfire and alien screeches, fire alarms and the spray of the overhead sprinklers pouring water into the hallway at thirty gallons per second. The two moved forward slowly, shooting their way through until they reached the underground roadway. America fired another blast at an alien, and it clicked empty. Throwing it to the water at their feet, he jerked his magnum from his hip and fired two more rounds into an alien's head, splaying it open, sending its odd green blood in a spray.

Gasping from the physical exertion, America paused a moment and peered into the roadway. Dozen's upon dozens of alien soldiers filled the roadway, grouping from one end to the other.

_I'm gonna run out of ammo at this rate._ He checked the rifle Nevada held, and found he was down to two magazines of ammo. Checking his magnum, he found only enough for 20 rounds. _Shit…I have to do something…_

Turning back to Nevada, he went back into the backpack, pulling out the four remaining grenades. Pulling the pins from two of them, he lobbed down them the roadway in both directions, two away from direction Tony's ship was, the others in the same direction, and fell to the ground.

"Get down and close your eyes!" America shouted at his state before the blast erupted. A shockwave slammed into the concrete walls and rushed up the roadway, slamming into America's back and shoving them into the wall. Fire roared, the sprinkler systems doing little against the gaseous fumes fueling the fire. Seconds passed before the fire died away, its fuel source sapped.

America jumped up, grabbed Nevada and started forward, gripping his magnum and rushing forward. How much time had passed? Four minutes? Five? Ten? Tony would wait for them if they took too long…would he?

_-hurry, hurry, hurry-_

Aliens screeched at their backs, gunfire erupted. A volley of bullets flew at them and America lunged behind the front end of a jeep, pinging off the metal and thunking into the concrete walls. Turning around, he found the hallway to Tony's ship just up the way.

_Close enough for a quick sprint. Just like jumping trenches in the great war, right? Like how Canada told me…_

"We're making a run for it."

"What!" Nevada turned to him. "Are you nuts?"

"Provide cover fire."

"Wait-!"

America grabbed the pack and sprinted up the roadway. Nevada fired the rifle at the oncoming aliens, wincing as the bullets struck the water, walls, ceiling and other objects all around them until they turned into the hall.

"Hurry!" Nevada shouted. "I'm out of ammo!"

America trudged through the water, now up to mid-calf, and ran as quickly as his exhausted, burned legs and mutilated feet could carry him. Alien screeches sounded behind him, filling the hall. Gunfire exploded once more, and America pulled Nevada ahead of him, throwing him into the room as a bullet slammed into his back shoulder.

"Shit-!" America threw himself into the room, using the corner wall for cover. Turning, he grabbed Nevada, pulling him close and stared at the blast door.

It was halfway lowered.

"Fuck!" Tony shouted, eyes huge with alarm. "Door closing on its own! Cannot override! Fucking hurry, damnit!"

Before America could respond, aliens burst from the hall and filled the room. They fell on him and Nevada, tugging the state away.

"Don't you _fucking touch him_!" America growled and slammed his fists into the aliens gripping him. "Let go!"

Fingers claws at his shirt and pants, his magnum was taken, his ammo belt torn away. America slammed his elbow into an alien's face and drove his fist into another. Grabbing one alien by the neck, he lifted it effortlessly and flung it into a group of three surrounding Nevada. Ignoring those at his back, he grabbed Nevada by the shirt, lifted him and flung him across the threshold and into the immense chamber where Tony stood.

"No!" Nevada shouted, rolling to face him, struggling to get on his feet. "Don't let them get you- hurry!"

"Door closing!" Tony screamed again, scrambling for his rifle and running forward. "Fuck! Piece of shit!"

America reached around, grabbed the alien clawing his back to shreds and flung it away into a wall, where it landed with a sickening crack, and pushed through the water, now at his groin.

"No!" America shouted, desperately trying to get to the door while shoving and throwing aliens away from him. "Wait-wait!"

The blast door sunk into the water, blocking the light from the chamber until it closed with a grinding halt. America crashed into the door, slamming his fists on it in frustration, only denting the surface. The aliens fell upon him once again, and America turned on them, throwing punches and grabbing their necks, flinging them away.

"Get off- get off!"

The room was filled with them, all surrounding and grabbing him, stabbing their guns into his gut. Their fingers clawing at him, grabbing his hair, his glasses, his face; he fought back in desperation, their screeching and hissing surrounding him, the water inching higher, the sirens screaming in his ears. His head pounded from the wall of noise, his lungs gasped for air, an alien who was taller than the others raised a large hypodermic needle, ready and prepped. The needle glinted and with a flash of amazing speed, sunk into his neck before he could shove the thing away. Warmth filled him, his muscles grew lax, eyelids grew heavy. The aliens kept him from sinking into the water, while the one holding the needle handed it to an assistant. Pulling its mask away, it spread its pucker lips into a horrific smile, razor sharp teeth, all pointed inward, revealed in their yellow glory. Reaching to its waist, it lifted two objects from its belt.

One of them was Canada's large dagger. The other a glistening magnum.

_The magnum I gave to Russia._

He opened his mouth to yell and scream his anger at him, but only a gasping croak came out. The room spun, aliens hissing and chortling in their guttural language. Toothy, horrific smiling faces, victorious with catching their prize, all surrounded him. The liquid, chemical sleep flooded him. Eyes rolling up, body turning limp, the layers of sleep wrapped around him, drawing him into a calm, dark unconsciousness.

* * *

"No! _No! _Let me go- let go!"

"Fucking shit!" Tony dragged Nevada up the ramp into the ship until he shoved him away and slammed the door shut. "Pu, pu!"

"Damnit…_damnit…no…_" Nevada covered his face with his hands, furiously wiping the tears of frustration from his eyes.

Tony sat at the right seat before a large panel of controls. Flipping switches and clicking buttons, the ship came to life, its engines roaring, maneuvering jets flashing and pushing the space craft off the ground. Another switch flipped, the hum of the engines turned silent as Tony engaged the stealth systems and with a burst, cleared through the doors blocking the ceiling and shooting into the sky.

Nevada sighed and let his head fall back to the floor. "What are you going to do?"

Tony pulled up the navigational display. It showed their exact coordinates, position, compass readings, and more.

"We're going to Europe to get the signal."

He plugged in a series of coordinates and put the ship on autopilot.

"And you're coming with me to explain what happened."

* * *

**Next Chapter: **_Tony lands, meets with the western European nations and gets the signal, putting the final plan into play; America awakens on the alien ship orbiting earth._

Extra Notes

**1. Pinion Pine Nuts** - [Wiki] "The pinyon (or piñon) pine group grows in the southwestern United States and in Mexico. The trees yield edible pinyon nuts, which were a staple of the Native Americans, and are still widely eaten. The fragrance of the wood, especially when burned, is unmistakable."

**2. Groom Mountain Range** - [Wiki] "The Groom Range is a mountain range in Lincoln County, Nevada.[1] It is located within the Nevada Test and Training Range, north of Groom Dry Lake. The highest point in the Groom Range is 9,249 feet." It also fails to mention that the Groom Dry Lake is where the "Area 51" facility is located, if Google maps is to be believed.

**3. The needle was injected into the glass vial, drawing an excessive twelve ccs of the red fluid.** - One cc equals around 1 milliliter. I'm not a medical student though, so if I'm wrong, please don't hesitate to correct me! :)

**4. "Plus… the summer's here are brutal. Without power, this whole facility would turn into an oven."** - Summer temperatures in the Mojave desert can range from 90 degrees Fahrenheit (32 degrees Celsius) to 120 degrees Fahrenheit (48 degrees Celsius). The average temperature is around 105 to 110 (40 to 43) degrees. The humidity of the area is very low, ranging from 10% to 30% (only about an inch or two of rain per year).

**5. Anesthesia awareness** - [Wiki] "…occurs during general anesthesia, on the operating table, when the general anesthetic or analgesic provided to render the patient unconscious during general anesthesia is not effective but the agents used to paralyze the patient are. This means that the patient is unable to move or speak, but is awake or conscious to some degree, hearing and feeling the entire procedure (…)Awareness occurs in 20,000-40,000 patients out of the 20 million US surgeries performed each year (between 0.1% and 0.2%)[1] when patients have anesthesia that is inadequate to keep them unconscious during an operation. In this situation, the patient may feel the pain or pressure of surgery, hear conversations, or feel as if they cannot breathe. The patient may be unable to communicate any distress because they have been given a paralytic/muscle relaxant. If anesthesia awareness does occur about 42% feel the pain of the operation, 94% experience panic/anxiety and 70% experience lasting psychological symptoms."


	21. Chapter 21

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & mature themes.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

* * *

Three Hours Later/Somewhere in Northern Germany

"Get up, we've landed."

Nevada lay prone on the floor, in the exact spot Tony left him when they escaped from Area 51. He moved his hands away from his shocked face. "Wha- Already?"

"We're at the exact coordinates Germany gave me." Tony was already standing and riffling through the medical cabinet. "He will give us the signal, if it is ready, and you will tell them what happened to America."

Nevada's face crumbled, his hands returned to covering his red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. "I've never left home before… I've only ever seen Matthew and Maria when they visit dad…"

"I can't tell them what happened, because I wasn't with Alfred." Tony remarked, pulling out a set of crutches, setting them for Nevada's height, and returning to his side. "You have to tell them."

The boy sighed mournfully, and lifted himself up from the floor. Being mindful of his broken left ankle, now wrapped in a splint to keep it immobile, he leaned his body on his good leg, took the crutches from Tony, and followed him out of the ship. Woodland surrounded the ship, a thick layer of snow blanketing the landscape. The sharp smell of pine and oak struck his nose, far different from the bitter, dry smell of sage back home in his deserts.

Tony carried America's pack, slinging it over his shoulders, and lead the way through the snow covered woods.

Silence pressed on them, the air heavy with condensation. A tickle started at the back of his neck, the feeling of being watched filling him to the brim. Nevada swallowed and willed himself to ignore it.

After walking for a while, the trees opened up to reveal a compact, two-story cabin. A man stood from behind a wooden barricade, his hair nearly white-blonde, his eyes red.

"About time!" The man shouted, shouldering his rifle and waving at the two of them. "We've been thinking you never made it."

"We made it." Tony snapped, annoyance dripping from his voice. "Alfred made _sure of that_."

The man stared at him, his eyes narrowing. "Where is he anyway?" His red eyes finally landed on Nevada. "… who the hell are you?"

Nevada swallowed and clenched his fingers around the crutches; this man gave off a feeling of old, dangerous power. He held the rifle as if it were a part of his body and looked as if he knew twenty different ways to disable you with a single look. The man had a gleam in his eye that stretched into the distance, depth reaching hundreds of years ago, stretching into ages long past.

A shudder ran up Nevada's spine. He'd seen America with a look similar to that… but nothing trumped this man who stood before him.

"I'm Nevada."

"… Who?"

"America's state." Nevada explained, deciding to be on his best manners. "I'm… from the west coast."

"Ah… right. I'm Prussia." He turned and opened the door. "Go inside. Germany will want to talk to you."

Tony went inside, and Nevada followed him. The door closed behind him, shutting out the frigid, wet cold. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and seven people turned to stare at him. Nevada recognized none of them.

Tony quickly introduced everyone to him, and Nevada did the same.

England's mouth was pressed into a thin line, his eyebrows drawing together, anger burning in his evergreen gaze. France stood nearby, his arms crossed over his chest. The others sat in various sofas and chairs around them room, all leveling piercing stares at him.

"Where's America?" England asked, finally speaking of the proverbial _invisible elephant_ in the room. "Why isn't he here?"

Nevada's cheeks burned, but he didn't let his eyes fall away. _Never back away from a challenge like that_- America would always say -_to them, it makes you look weak_.

"He… he was captured."

All at once, exclamations in several different languages erupted around the room. England crossed the room and stood before him, looking ready to punch someone.

"How?"

* * *

"I can't _believe_ this!" England shouted to no one in particular. "He _promised_ me to be careful! Utterly stupid and ridiculous!"

"Dad- _Alfred_ did what he thought was best." Nevada tried defending America, despite knowing it _would've_ been better if he'd just left him behind. "It was his decision… and I have to follow it."

"Calm _down_-" France admonished, rubbing his temple to keep the oncoming headache at bay. "You know how _over protective_ he is of _them_."

"I **know**." England growled, shooting a glare at him before turning back to Nevada, running a critical eye over the boy. "I wonder…"

Nevada shifted, growing uncomfortable under England's piercing, contemplative gaze. France raised an eyebrow and shifted a suspicious glance to England.

Tony sat with Germany and the other nations, going over the signal, the theory they came up with, and how to implement it.

"An exponential, repeating signal…" Tony repeated after Estonia finished his explanation, skimming over the notes and mathematical computations done by Belgium and Denmark. "It should work, in theory."

"We only get a single chance though." Belgium warned, her eyes growing worried. "We only get a single shot. If this fails… then we should be prepared for a backlash at the _border regions_."

"Right." Estonia agreed. "We must be ready for that, but the math all works out. Unless they have somehow discovered us doing this, and mended their broken systems… then there is no reason it shouldn't work."

Germany pulled out a single plastic disc, small enough in diameter to fit into the palm of his hand, and held it over to Tony, who opened a clear plastic case, tucked it inside and snapped it shut.

"Germany." England called, turning to him. "Can you check the computer to see where America is being held?"

"… How long has it been since he was captured?" Germany asked, glancing at Nevada first, and then turning his intense teal gaze to Tony. "They may not have updated the mainframe yet."

"Three hours." Tony responded. "Should be enough time."

Germany turned to the console, which had been moved back to the coffee table standing before the sofa, and expertly typed the glowing keyboard, pulling up the screen of nations. Scrolling down, he came to America's picture, and pulled up his file.

"Vessel twenty-one… the same one that Canada is in." Germany spoke slowly as he read over the text, translating it from the alien language to German, then translating it to English for Tony, Nevada and England. "Medical… they just moved him to the same room Canada has been in for the past few months." Germany pulled away, eyes narrowing in realization. "They must be preparing for the procedure."

Nevada paled and let the breath he'd been holding release in a shuddering sigh. England remained calm in appearance, but his back was straight and tense, his evergreen eyes blazing.

"Wait-wait!" Nevada gasped, turning to Tony. "Tony… can't you just use your teleporting… _thing_ to get them out?"

"Not while their shields are up." Tony responded, glancing back to him. "And once I start the signal, I need to divert all power to keeping the signal going, while preventing the mainframe from coming back."

"Damn…" Nevada cursed. "So… we just leave them there? Leave them while the ships systems go down? How are we going to get them out when they'll be stuck up there?"

"… I can get them out." England stated, his voice low and authoritative. "-Not going up there and getting them out, literally… but in a…_different_ sense."

France immediately knew what England was speaking of and stepped forward, shaking his head. "It's too much of a risk. You already tried it once, and you could only manage a weak mental connection-"

"Belt up, _frog_." England snapped, and at the confused glances to the others, explained himself. "Using a single hair of Canada's, I was able to… use my _talent_ and make a… sort of mental connection to him. He explained to me where he was, why they haven't operated on him or Russia yet, and that they've been keeping him in chains. Using the hair, and a set of gloves Russia accidently left after a meeting, I was able to _curse_ them and make their wounds heal at a slower rate, preventing the invaders from doing any operations on them while they healed."

Realization dawned on many faces.

"So _that's_ why they didn't do anything…" Belgium remarked. "We'd been wondering about that…"

"However, now I have someone directly related to America." England nodded to Nevada. "I can use him to make a direct connection to America, and using my…_talent_… force him to wake up, despite them putting him under with anesthesia."

"… You can do that?" Germany asked, crooking an eyebrow in doubt.

"I can." England stated confidently. "Once he wakes up, America can use his strength to escape his bonds, free Canada and Russia, and thus- escape from the facility."

"Wait-… with the power on and everything in working order, there is no way they could do all of that by themselves." Estonia reasoned. "If we used the signal, knocking out the systems- it would put everything in disarray. Then they _might_ have a chance."

"We'll time it then." England reasoned. "I'll make the connection, force him to awaken, and then the minute I finish with the spell, I tell you to turn the signal on."

"I'll have to be in orbit by then." Tony stated. "But I have communication equipment I can give you to keep in touch with me while I'm in orbit. You can tell me when its time, and I'll start it."

"Wait." Denmark spoke up, is expression firm, his presence nearly overwhelming. "Think about this, for a single moment. I assume that with the power off, they will half a limited amount of time to escape." He paused a moment, letting it sink in before continuing. "They do not know anything of those alien ships, nor the language, or the layout itself. Assuming these ships are large-"

"They are." Tony confirmed. "Twenty times larger than the largest ship in the world."

"Exactly." Denmark answered to Tony's short remark. "It would take them hours to find Russia- much less find a way off the ship. If they are to succeed in getting out, they must have someone to guide them."

"Communication." Estonia continued. "We have their computer here, completely separated from the network. It has simple maps of the alien's vessels inside their storage. If we are somehow… able to establish a communication line with them, even if it's a simple radio signal, it can help them get them off those ships more quickly."

"I agree." Germany nodded his consent. "If you can get ahold of them, Tony, can you patch them through to us here?"

Tony frowned, mulling over this for a long moment before nodding. "Yes. I should be able to. But only if I can get ahold of them on the ships."

"Good." England crossed his arms over his chest. "So, here is the plan. I do the spell and wake America up. I tell Germany to start the signal. Germany tells Tony, who is in orbit at the correction position. Tony starts the signal. All alien technology, vehicles and ships are shut down. If possible, we patch communications with them and help them escape. Are we in agreement?"

Thoughtful silence prevailed, and was followed by several nods of mutual agreement.

"I'll get the communication equipment, and head into orbit." Tony turned and headed for the front door, pausing a moment at the threshold. "Just remember. Once I start the signal, I can't do anything else that requires a lot of power, until I get rid of the invading ships."

"Right." Germany confirmed. "We'll keep track of everything here on this console, which should still work, since you disconnected it from the network?"

Tony nodded, and left.

"Germany?" England focused his stare on him. "May I borrow your basement?"

* * *

England dumped a bag full of various supplies to the concrete floor of the basement. France stood at the door, while Nevada stood close to England, growing more nervous by the second.

"What… are you going to do, exactly?" Nevada asked, his voice dripping with nervousness. "You aren't going to… like... uh… prick me or something… right?"

England rifled through the bag, pulling out a chunk of white chalk and drew a large circle, followed by a pentagram, and then drew symbols of various shapes and sizes around, _and within_, the circle.

Nevada clenched his crutches and stepped back nervously. "… England-?"

"I am going to need far more than a mere _prick_." England stated while drawing the final rune and straightened, turning to face the western state. "And you speak my language as poorly as _America_. I should have come to accept that, seeming as you are his state."

Nevada frowned. "More than a prick? What-"

"Step into the circle."

"But-"

"Stop talking and _step into the circle_." England ground through clenched teeth. "I don't have the time, _nor_ the patience, to deal with your silly questions."

Nevada nodded, unable to help feeling like a five year old in England's presence, and stepped inside with the help of his crutches. England sat down then, muttering a string of words under his breath in a quick fashion before flicking his hand at Nevada, motioning for him to sit. Nevada struggled momentarily before he sat with a grunt; his good leg bent inward, the other leg with the broken ankle stretched out in an awkward fashion. England crooked an eye at this, but remained silent. Reaching behind him, he pulled out a dagger that looked twice as old as America himself.

"Give me your right hand."

"What?" Nevada leaned back, clutching his right hand to his chest. "What are you going to do?"

England stared at him.

"What are you going to do?" Nevada repeated. "Are going to cut me?"

"I need your blood." The elder, former colonizer spat with impatience.

"My _blood_-?"

"You and America are linked, both physically and mentally, am I correct?"

"Yeah but-"

"Your blood will, momentarily, give me that connection with the help of the spell I'm about to perform." England explained, his voice sharp. "Then using that connection, I will be able to force America awake."

"You're… going to _force_ Dad awake?" Nevada asked, his dark blue eyes growing incredulous. "No one, _no one_, forces him awake. There's a reason why he has to buy a new alarm clock every week."

"I know. I raised him." England reminded the western state, forcing the urge to roll his eyes away. "I'm not going to just _force_ him to wake. I'm going to give him a nightmare."

Nevada frowned. "A nightmare?"

"It is the only way to help jar him awake. A nightmare, if frightening enough, will force him to awaken. Also because he is a nation – not a human – the drugs will notprevent him from reacting to the dream and waking up." England explained. "The only reason I can do this is because I have you as a direct link to him- a link even stronger than the one Canada and America share."

Nevada blinked at him in surprise before his eyebrows creased together in thought. "But… Are you sure you'll be able to scare Dad enough to wake him up? I mean... I know he's scared of ghosts, but usually that _keeps him from sleeping_… so once he's able to sleep again, it's gone from his mind."

"…**Everyone** has fears… " The corners of England's mouth quirked despite his stony, mask-like expression. "… Something that openly terrifies them, turns them squeamish and genuinely frightened… but there is always a darker, deeper fear that they keep hidden away. One that they never tell anyone."

"… Do you know what Dad's is?" Nevada stared at England. "You've known him the longest. Maybe… losing his freedom? Losing everything he believes in-?

"Perhaps." England crossed his arms over his chest, his evergreen eyes nearly glowing in speculation. "That has always been a huge part of who he is. However… there is something else that I have noticed over the centuries…"

"What?" The young state peered at the country, the gap between their births into the world vast and spanning the ages. "What is it? If you tell me, maybe I can help clarify it?"

"… A good idea. Cannot start the spell unprepared, of course. But remember, we must hurry." England relented, his body relaxing. "I was not the first one to take America under my wing. There was someone far older, far more… _different_ than anyone from the _old world_. I am sure you met _her_?"

"Her…" Nevada leaned away, his eyes turning distant. "You mean… oh. _Oh_." Understanding flowed into his face. "I only met her once… and it was when I was very young…" His eyebrows screwed together, his eyes closing. "I think… she called herself-"

"Kenāne."

Nevada glanced at England, eyes wide with surprise.

England met his gaze with indifference. "I also met her once; when I first arrived on America's shores. It was not a… _pleasant_ meeting."

"Dad isn't afraid of her." Nevada stated with firm conviction. "He never _was_ afraid of her… he was more… well…" The boy paused, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. England gazed at him and silently wondered why America didn't share this same trait. "He doesn't like to talk about her much. Not since she… well… _disappeared_." Nevada admitted openly. "But I know he never agreed with how things went… because… whenever a lot of the natives died… it affected _her_… but it _also_ affected him as well. I don't know how or why but… it was almost as if they were… _linked_… somehow… I remember one of the older states telling me about… whenever Kenāne came to talk, he always made us leave them alone. Thing's usually- no, _always_ - got heated between them…and usually it ended in them arguing and Kenāne storming off." Nevada shrugged helplessly. "But I know she raised Dad… until she discovered who he was. Dad was left alone until you found him… at least… that's what Virginia always says."

England mulled over this information for a long moment. Nevada started fidgeting as the silence stretched on uncomfortably. The elder nation frowned, his eyes stormy until his face smoothed, a cool, calm understanding filling him.

England refocused his piercing glare at Nevada. "Give me your hand."

"But-"

"Give me your _bloody_ hand!" England growled, his temper getting the best him. "We are _wasting_ time!"

Nevada hesitated a moment before thrusting his right hand out. England snatched it out of the air and turned it so the palm faced the ceiling. With his free hand, he gripped the ancient looking dagger and with a fast movement, sliced the boys hand open. Nevada hissed and physically winced at the pain, but forced his hand to remain in England's firm grip. Warm blood oozed from the cut and after a moment, dripped from his palm to the floor. England turned his palm over, allowing more blood to pool in the center of the pentagram. Closing his eyes, he mumbled a string of words from his old, nearly forgotten language. The air grew electrified; there was a resounding _pop_, England's eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped forward, unconscious. Nevada caught him, his eyes wide with surprise. He opened his mouth and glanced over to France, who frantically shook his head and pressed a finger to his lips.

Frowning, Nevada turned back to the elder nation he held in his arms and waited in silence.

* * *

Frigid water surrounded America, his body submerged to his neck. The air was thick with smoke and toxic fumes, burning his nose and throat. Eyes watering, he struggled to keep himself afloat, but the liquid was thick and heavy. A burden weighing down upon his shoulders, growing with every new struggle he attempted, always one step ahead. Always shooting. Never mind the fear of drowning, never mind the toxic air burning at his eyes, his nose, his throat… something was there, in the depths below his kicking, flaying feet, still blistered and torn from the relentless attacks. Something lurking and watching, witnessing his violent struggle with cold indifference, as if he were a fly struggling to free itself from the silken threads of a spider web.

The sky stretched overhead, dark and void of the luminous globe he stared at each night. Void of the stars he studied and watched with fevered wonder. The sky he spent watching with Russia lying beside him, neither touching each other, but simply enjoying his close presence. Russia's hand lying near to his own. Russia's feet shifting in the grass. The sound his breath made as it flowed through his teeth and past his lips. The way his voice sounded when he wasn't infuriated at him over something, wasn't forcing himself to make small talk because their bosses were _right there_, wasn't speaking at him as if he were a child. His voice was naturally low, textured, the accent rolling off his lips and sounding deep in his throat all at once. The genuine wonder and excitement, curiosity and questioning America felt when he stared into the heaven's above shown clearly through Russia's voice.

How America had wanted to reach across that gap between them, a gap so small, yet so strong… its presence an impenetrable wall between them. But he hesitated. He waited. Would Russia take the plunge? Take that first step? Breach the through the wall and break through? America waited, but he remained in his bubble… and America kept to his own. The attraction between them felt so strong… so inevitably _there_… the feel almost tangible in touch, flowing across his skin when they stood near each other… and America reveled in that closeness. Relished the electric tendrils that touched each nerve ending, his eyes to glancing at him when he was turned the other way. And finally, when the distance between them lessened, the barrier weakened, the wall torn away…

"Do you want to go to the observatory?"

Russia paused, his fingers still clutching the assortment of papers, handwritten notes and printed handouts, all documenting the various issues they'd discussed in the meeting. America met Russia's inquiring, questioning gaze with unwavering firmness.

_Say yes._ He'd wished. _Say you'll do it. Say you'll come with me._

Russia put the papers together, tucked them into a folder with the day written in one corner, and pocketed it inside his briefcase.

"I have some free time."

It was as close to a _yes_ he got, and America took it. He immediately dragged the elder nation to the location, paying for the both of them despite Russia's vocal complaints, and after reading the various informational displays, entered the circular room and took a seat. The room was empty, the building a mere thirty minutes from closing, but the two remained in their seats as the lights went dim, and then dark. The projector started, an electric hum filling the air before a musical track of woven, synthesized, electronica sounds overrode the machine, and then… light exploded across the curved ceiling. A vast night sky appeared, stars of varying color and wavelength, sizes and shapes, galaxies and brilliant clouds of dust and gases all moved overhead. Russia stared, his eyes open and clear, the enjoyment and love of the last frontier visible on his face for all to see. America watched, and felt the feeling return. Giddy and electric, a quivering shiver rattled his muscles and settled over his entire body. Heart beating against his ribs, he let his eyes close in bliss and rode the wave of excited pleasure that came from merely sitting beside him, feeling his presence again after it was missing for so long. It felt _right_ to have Russia sitting there, mere inches from him. To have him all to himself, without others to distract and call him away.

A hand touched at his shoulder and America opened his eyes slowly, lethargically, drunkenly.

Russia gazed at him, a question resting in his violet eyes. He opened his mouth slowly, his tongue moved, his jaw lowered, the muscles of his neck flexed and moved.

"Why are you staring at me?" Russia asked. "Is there something wrong?"

America gazed at him, drowning in those cold, violet pools. He felt himself lean forward, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips to Russia's in a soft, curious kiss. The elder nation sat rigid in response, his jaw clenching, his lips firm… and then the last layer fell away between them. Russia melted into him, returning the kiss with interest. Large, calloused hands rose and cupped America's neck, and cheek, touching them reverently until fingernails drug up the nape of his neck and into his hair. The kiss deepened at America's breathless gasp, their arms wrapped around each other, their bodies pressed together. A driving thirst he didn't know existed was quenched with each touch, each kiss, each soft breath that escaped Russia's pale lips, now darkening to a pinkish red.

Fevered rush dying - their need for each other temporarily sated - they paused in the kissing and clung to each other until the observatory closed. They left together and stood by America's rented car. Russia didn't walk to the passenger door, but merely stood before America, lingering, waiting for him the first move. Hoping it would be more than a passing desire.

"Come back with me." America whispered, his voice a hushed demand because he didn't _beg_. "Stay with me."

Russia gazed at him, eyes searching those endless blue pools that stretched on forever. America met his stare and leaned forward, but kept his arms rigid at his side, afraid to reach out, hesitating to touch him for fear of rejection.

"Come with me." America's voice wavered, teetering on the edge of a precipice. "Don't leave me-"

Russia touched his face, cold fingers running across America's heated cheek. A silent understanding, and Russia let his hand fall, the ghost of a smile on his face.

The sky rippled overhead, a numbing tingle overcame America, and suddenly the treasured memory was gone, fallen away to the depths of his mind.

Russia was gone. Taken from his home and put under the knife… and soon to be one of them.

The flooded room came back. The water, dark and congealed, clung pulled, lashing at his body. Bruised and beaten, burned and slashed, the years of fighting after the flash weighing on his shoulders and body. World weary and exhausted, America closed his eyes and cursed their very existence, his hatred for them burning in his chest, once a searing fire that overwhelmed him, now an old hatred, burned down to glowing, simmering coals. It gnawed away at him, and America felt himself falling away.

_Let the water take me._ America kicked and sucked in a gasp of air. _I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of feeling my people die every single day. Tired of hiding and running… tired of holding onto that last hope…_

He relaxed his body, and the water rushed up his neck, over his face and then submerged. Cold and dark, he fell into the abyss below, uncaring of what lied in wait for him… he was tired of it all. He fought and fought and fought… and they still caught him. They had won.

A light exploded into his vision; strong, calloused hands grabbed his neck and the front of his shirt and lifted. The water fell away and his lungs seized, forcing the water from his chest in choking, hacking coughs.

"To think that at one time…. you actually defeated me in battle."

America's eyes flew open. A globe of light, looking suspiciously similar to the moon only…_off_… was in the sky overhead, illuminating them both.

The woman's skin was a dark tan, her eyes brown with speckled orange. Her body was tall and lean, muscular and sleek.

America opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off.

"I look at you and see nothing but a broken man." She sneered, eyes narrowing. "The brother asks the impossible."

"Kenāne - what?" America croaked, his throat raw. "Brother?"

"The one who summoned me here."

"Who-?"

Wind blasted him in the face, and the water washed away to reveal a jagged cliff, the canyon below endless.

"When I faded from existence… I told myself not to fear for my children." She spoke in low, even tones. "Because when they suffered… _you_ suffered. When my people fought with your people…you bore the scars from them both. They are linked to you…just as they are linked to me. I told myself to have trust in you. To have confidence in you. But I see now… I see I misjudged."

"No – you don't understand-"

"I _understand_." She growled. "You give up. You let them all go."

"I didn't!"

"How does it feel to fight against an enemy far superior to you?" She spoke evenly, genuine curiosity showing in her eyes. "How does it feel to fight for your land, to fight for your way of life, just as I did for hundreds of years?"

"Please." America wilted under her questions, guilt shining in his eyes. "Don't start this now. Don't-"

"It is hard, isn't it? I understand." She gazed at him. "I did it for over four hundred years. You have not even lasted a generation and you give up now?"

"Please-"

"Shut up and listen for a single moment!" England's voice tore into his consciousness, and suddenly he appeared beside the woman, dressed in his military uniform America's revolution. "They are going to kill all those that resist."

"No-"

"Those that give in will be assimilated." Kenāne spoke evenly. "They will live in chains and work for their masters. If they disobey they will be whipped into obedience."

"Stop talking." America squeezed his eyes shut as horrible, guilt-ridden memories of all the horrible things he did in his history reared their heads. "Please-"

"They will live to serve their master's." Kenāne continued. "They will live and die as slaves to the invaders."

"No." America snapped, his eyes flying open as hot anger filling him. "They'd never- not after everything-"

"They will have no freedom." England growled at him. "No liberty, no right to happiness. They will work as servants until the day they die."

"No- never-"

"They will drain the water and carve all life from the land _we_ love so much." Kenāne's voice wavered, anger seeping into her tone. "All resources taken until you are nothing but a dried husk."

"No!" America finally shouted, and lifted his hands up to grip Kenāne's wrists. "They won't-!"

"You will be merged with your twin, and become one of their own." Kenāne continued, ignoring America's grip on her hands. "You will cease to exist, _United States of America_."

"All others will cease to exist, merged with each other to become new members of their fleet." England's voice softened. "But only one will remain."

America's anger screeched to a halt. "What?"

"Only one will remain." England repeated.

"Russia…" It dawned upon him suddenly and vividly. "He's the only one… big enough to survive-"

"They will change his body, and make it so his lands become the hard, cold hull of a ship, his people the alien invaders." England continued. "But his mind will remain… his memories will linger for ages to come."

"A beaten warrior." Kenāne's voice softened, but the harshness remained. "The sole survivor to watch the death of our land and the great spirit."

"No." America struggled against her grip. "_No_!"

"And as the human race dies away, he _alone_ will remain." England went on, ignoring America's misgivings. "Forever to be in their service… with only his memories of times long past to comfort him under the dying stars of the milky way."

"_No-no-no_! I can't- I won't let it happen!"

America tore their hands away and the cliff face rushed past him. Air screamed through him, the ground flying up to meet him until his body crashed into the earth.

* * *

"**No**-!"

America woke up to the sound of his screaming voice. A cold, white, sterile room surrounded him. Machines beeped, and aliens surrounded him, hissing and growled at each other. One lifted a needle and grabbed his arm.

"Stop! Let go!"

He jerked at his arms and found them chained down. He twisted his body, the sound of metal crunching filling the air as the aliens backed away in fear before the one with the needle surged forward, aiming for his neck. Gasping, his chest heaving as blood thrummed in his veins, he twisted his body again and with a mighty heave, tore his arms free. Chain links snapped and fell away. America twisted out of bed, and slammed into the wall, crashing into a tray full of sharp metal instruments. He jerked around to face the aliens and on a whim, snatched up a razor-sharp scalpel and lunged forward, grabbing the alien doctor, twisted him around and pointed the scalpel at his neck.

"Nobody move!" America shouted, his voice reverberating off the walls as all of the aliens ran from the room. "Shut the door!"

Only one remained still, it's beady black eyes wide with fear.

"Shut the door or I'll kill him!" America threatened, shivering with anger and desperation, his mind still reeling from the nightmare. "_Do it_!"

It shut the door with a resounding _thud_.

"Lock the door." America's voice shook with fevered excitement and nervousness. "Right now!"

The alien winced at his loud voice and followed orders, locking the door and pressing itself into the corner, shivering with fear.

America gasped and panted, his limbs trembling with unspent energy as he tried thinking of what to do next.

"Fuck… fuck-fuck-fuck…" He swept his eyes over the room and found it to be a preparation room for surgery. He looked down and found himself covered with a paper-like material.

He swallowed and tried forcing his breathing back to normal.

_They were getting me ready for surgery. They were going to… to… if I'm here, then Canada is-_

The doctor suddenly lunged for one of the gleaming metal cleavers on the floor. America grabbed him by the back of its coat, jerked it to him and stabbed the scalpel into the back of its neck, sinking until it pierced through the other side. The doctor choked and gagged, clawing at its throat. America flung him away, the body crashing into the broken bed frame. Grabbing another scalpel off the floor, America turned on what looked like a nurse, who was moaning and shivering in terror.

"You're going to lead me to where Canada is."

America grabbed him and lifted him up, leveling an intense glare at him.

_No more. No more fucking around, no more bullshit. I've absolutely had it with them all. If they think I'm going to let them do that to everyone… to my brother… to my people… to __**Russia**__…_

"And if you don't tell me, you're going to end up like _him_."

America lifted the nurse clear off the ground and thrust him at the broken, bloody body of the doctor, and after a moment, he pulled him back to his face.

"_Understand_?"

* * *

Nevada peered down at England, who was lying on his lap, his head cushioned with his thigh. More than thirty minutes had passed since England started the spell, and still he remained prone and unconscious. Nevada bit his lip and glanced to France, who frowned in response, his eyes narrowed. Time passed slowly, a clock ticked just beyond the door to the basement, water dropped to the frigid concrete floor. Nevada shivered and crossed his arms over his chest, unused to the frozen, wet cold.

A gasping shout broke the silence. England's head was thrown back, mouth open and gasping for air. His eyes were wild and nearly glowed in the muted light of the basement. France stepped forward, but stopped just outside the circle. Nevada helped the elder nation into a sitting position, eyes wide. England gripped his arm for support, growing deathly pale for a moment before color returned to his face. His gasps slowing into a pant, he waved his hand and spoke a word, ending the spell.

"It's done- he… he woke up-"

"Are you sure?" France asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You are _positive_ he is awake?"

"Of _course_ I'm bloody well sure!" England snapped, eyes blazing in anger. "It's done! Go up and tell them!"

France frowned, but threw the door open and fled the basement.

Nevada remained in his cross legged position on the floor, continuing to worry his bottom lip. England sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief from his left pocket.

"England… ah…" Nevada started, his voice wavering nervously. "Do you think… Dad will be okay? Will he and Uncle Mattie… make it?"

England stared at him for a long moment before struggling to his feet. Crossing the distance between them, he helped the young state to his feet and clapped a hand over his shoulder.

"They will make it." England pulled his hand away and stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket, smiling wryly. "I've made sure of that."

France ran up the hall to the main room where the other nations sat, clapping a hand to the wall to stop him one he entered.

"It's done!" He gasped. "Start the signal!"

Germany touched the small, ear-bud like device at his right ear and clicked it on. "Tony?"

A pause, Germany sat still, his back ramrod straight.

"It's done. Start the signal."

* * *

Low Earth Orbit

"Understood. Preparing signal now."

Tony sat in the flight seat before the vast expanse of controls, computer displays and gauges. A green light blinked at him, signalling the stealth systems were engaged and working properly. Other controls were light up, showing the gauges and navigational display, viewing vast swatches of star maps and fast travel quadrants across the milky way. Lifting his hand, he pressed a finger to the swatches, scrolled through them until he came to one with a beautiful nebula, enlarged it to the screen.

Tony gazed at it for a long moment, an ache filling him before his eyes narrowed. "After hundreds of years… after everything they've done to us… we'll finally defeat them. The galaxy will never fear the skies again."

Minimizing the display of his home system, he brought up his mission report. The words were burned to his memory after re-reading it so many times.

**LOG DATE: 032/2098 R.E.**

**Subject 327.53.29**

**You are to go to star system 34 x 10****7****, planet L3. Locally named: Earth. Observe and report; Interaction with populace is at your own discretion. Log one hundred local years; return and report. If planet hunters arrive, use every means necessary to quell threat. If threat neutralized; return and report.**

**End Log.**

Tony swallowed and turned away.

_Return and Report._

Turning back to the controls, he pulled out a plastic container, popped it open, and withdrew the disc. It stared at it for a moment, the tiny disc was small enough to fit in his hand, but the information written on it was strong enough to destroy the central core and network of a race ages ahead of both humanity _and_ Tony's people. Pressing a button, a tiny panel popped open, revealing an area for laser discs. Tony pressed the tiny disc to the opening, snapping inside before closing the panel. Seconds passed, and a window popped up.

_Execute Program Y/N?_

Tony pressed another button, opening the outside blast covers to revealing the dozens of huge alien ships orbiting the Earth. None of them knew where he was.

Glaring, he raised his hand and with the push of a button, executed the program.

"Rot in hell, fuckers."

* * *

Southern Coastline/Spain

Alien artillery exploded in the beach and pinned encampments. Old, decaying cannons exploded in response, the ocean gushing whitewater with each missed hit. Cannon balls bounced off the alien ships pushing to land in the beach.

Spain controlled one cannon himself, re-aiming, prepping, lifting the heavy ball into the gun, readying the fuse, lighting with a half-burnt out torch and plugging his ears with his hands in anticipation of the explosion. Smoke and fire burst from the cannon as it flew backwards. Spain rushed forward, pushing the cannon back into position when a young messenger boy ran to him.

"Sir! The others- they're running out of ammunition-!"

Spain turned to him, and rubbed his blackened hands on his pants. His arms, hands, face and hair all bore dirt smudged, soot blackened skin.

"Calm down." Spain said more to himself than the boy standing before him. "What happened?"

"Four cannons have run out of black powder. Three others are having to borrow cannon balls from other storage supplies. One cannon cracked and is un-usable-"

"But I ordered for supplies to be sent!" Spain growled, and started for the opening leading to the trench outside when an alien shell landed outside. The blast flung Spain backwards, his head striking the wall hard. Smoke and dirt flew into his face, he twisted to his side, and pressed his hands to the floor, lifting himself back to his feet despite his ears ringing. Another blast erupted, and another, the shells finally landing on the encampments. The ground shook and peeled open, dirt and rocks flung from the ground into the air, rendering clouds of dust to flood the skies.

_This… this is it._ Spain fell back to his feet and grabbed the young boy, scooted them both into a corner, covering the boy with his body in an attempt to protect him from the blasts. _After fighting for the past year… they've finally… __**finally**__…_

The explosions abruptly halted. An eerie silence followed.

Remaining still for a long moment, Spain finally lifted his head and peered into the thick clouds the dust and dirt. Men and women shouted to each other in the other encampments, asking for head counts and to survey the situation. Spain turned to the boy, who struggled to his feet.

"I-I am alright…" The boy ran his hands over his chest and abdomen. "I… What happened…?"

Spain turned to the cannon, which was in the same position he left it in and knelt at the end of it, peering through the square-like opening. A wide beach, once beautiful and serene, now cratered and demolished. The ocean was dark, the clouds thick but clumped, allowing shafts of sunlight through. The alien ships floated just off the shoreline, their guns silent.

"What…?"

Pulling a cracked, near ancient spyglass from his pocket, he opened it and peered through. The aliens were scurrying on the decks of their ships, looking almost frantic. Realization dawned, and a huge grin split across Spain's face.

"They did it!" He jumped to his feet and turned to the boy messenger. "They actually got the signal working!"

"Who…?" The boy gaped at him. "What signal?"

Spain merely shook his head, and merely flung his arms around the boy. "The aliens… their vehicles, ships and aircraft… none of it will work now."

The boy jerked away, eyes huge. "_Really_?"

"I need you to tell the others. Understand?"

The boy nodded, his face nearly splitting open with a 100 watt smile.

Spain watched him leave and turned back to the shoreline. His eyes focused on the ships. Eyes glittering, he smiled and felt his body shaking with excitement.

* * *

Somewhere near the Northern border of Italy

South Italy lay on a bed in a secluded, one room cabin. His legs were wrapped in thick bandages, his arms lying weakly at his sides. Each breath was forced into his lungs, having to make a conscious effort.

The door handle rattled, and then exploded open. North Italy stumbled in, clinging to the doorway for support. Other soldiers rushed at him from behind, grabbing him under the arms and helping him to the bed where South Italy lay.

"Fratello-!"

"He'll be alright… got a nasty gunshot to the belly." One soldier stated, helping the younger brother into bed. "We patched him up, and are awaiting the doctor."

South Italy turned to his brother, eyes wide. After the soldiers left the room, he turned on him. "What the hell were you thinking? Didn't I tell you to be careful? Didn't I-?"

North Italy smiled suddenly, his eyes opening and focusing on his elder brother. "Germany did it, fratello. He _did it_-"

"Did _what_?" South Italy snapped. "Ignore us while he played with that fucking science experiment of his? Damn potato **bastard**-"

"No-no… the signal… he did it. It worked. The invader's artillery was quiet… their technology doesn't work… all they have is their guns… and nothing else."

South Italy gaped open mouthed. "Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes."

North Italy smiled happily, relaxing into the bed. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.

"It's true."

* * *

Northern China

"… It's quiet."

China lifted his head up from the book he held. Beside him lay Hong Kong, bruised and exhausted, several wounds covered in bandages. Sweat dripped from his brow as fever raged through him.

"..W-what…?"

China shushed him and stood, favoring his right leg. Grasping a single crutch, he limped to the door of the small, dark room and knocked twice. A knock answered, and he opened the door.

"What is going on?" China asked. "Have they turned away-?"

A soldier ran up the hall, nearly skidding to a half before him.

"Sir!" The soldier acknowledged respectively. "The invaders… they…"

"Show me." China ignored the distressed looks of the soldiers outside his room and sparing a moment to tell Hong Kong where he was going, followed the soldier down a series of halls and doorways before emerging outside. The sun glowed a hazy orange through the smoke-laden air. Fire raged through the town as his citizens and soldiers rushed to put them out. There, in the street directly outside the building China had been hiding in was an alien fighter jet, its front end smashed into the ground, the tail end jutting into the air. A blue-orange fire raged from the wreckage, the leaked fuel burning away.

Eyes widening, China stepped further into the street, and found another alien jet collided into a building, while others more littered the streets.

"They… they fell from the sky." The soldier admitted from behind. "It was as if… someone turned them off. And they fell…" The man made a motion with his hands, showing the flying steadily before nose diving into the ground. "Just like that."

China gazed at him for a moment before turning his eyes back to the wrecked alien jet in the street before him.

"… So it worked."

Relief spread through him at thought of the alien's technology being utterly useless.

"It is only a matter of time, now."

* * *

Northern Germany

Belguim exploded through the front door of the home, stacks of papers clutched in her hands. She dropped them to the table, panting for air.

"The wires are going crazy with news!" She gasped. "The planes are dropping from the sky! Ships are floating uselessly off the northern Mediterranean beaches, tanks and other vehicles stopping in their tracks… the only weapon the aliens have now are guns and grenades… and that's _it_! The signal's working!"

The nations in the room cried out in joyous relief, clapping each other on the shoulder, the back, others merely sighing on relief. Nevada sat beside England, a muted, worried smile on his face.

"What of America, Canada and Russia?" England asked, interrupting the momentary celebration. "Have you heard anything?"

Germany refocused onto the alien console screen, and shook his head negatively. Nevada wilted in response, his eyes turning to the floor.

"Stop fretting, boy." England muttered to the young state. "America is not alone up there. He has Canada and Russia with him. Together they can escape and find a way back to Earth."

"Really?" Nevada turned to him. "I just… I-"

"Have faith." England glanced at him, the wry smile from earlier coming back. "America knows better than to do anything stupid. Especially after that nightmare I sent him."

Nevada frowned. "… Just how bad was this dream?"

"… Perhaps he'll tell you about it."

England scoffed softly and leaned away.

"Someday."

* * *

Vessel 21/Low Earth Orbit

"Open the door."

America held the alien nurse by the neck and held a scalpel to its throat. It opened the door and the two entered the long hall. The walls were grey sheets of metal, pipes and electronics were mounted to the ceiling, white fluorescent lights illuminating the hall. America's bare feet padded against the cool metal floor, and he couldn't help but shiver at the cold, sterile environment, wearing nothing but the stiff, paper-like material of surgery clothing. The front was split down the center, ending at his knees, and was tied together with a series of knots.

Other aliens entered the hall from other rooms, witnessed the two walking down the hall, and backed into their rooms, gasping and hissing in surprise.

Cold sweat dripped down America's temple, his heart hammered in his chest. Minutes passed, and the two finally came to the doors. The alien punched in an access code, it beeped softly, the doors sliding open. Five pairs of eyes all focused on America and his hostage. There, behind the pack of alien medical personnel was his twin.

Canada lay on the hospital bed, an IV hooked to his arm, wires and sensors taped to various areas on his body, giving the machines and heart monitors a running read out of his vitals. America ran inside, dragged the alien with him and hitting his elbow on the keypad inside, smashing it with a _crack_ and rendering it useless as the doors slide shut. The aliens all hissed and screeched, many eyeing the scalpel in America's hand while glancing back to the smashed keypad.

"_Shut up_!" America snapped, his patience paper thin, unable to take the alien's language anymore. "All of you in the corner." He nodded to the bare corner of the room, void of medical instruments, and electronic equipment. "Nobody move or he dies, understand?"

A single head nodded. The others followed from the single alien's example.

Glancing to his twin, America walked backwards to him and, single handedly, started disconnecting him from the medical monitors and machines. One by one the machines beeped in warning, until the heart monitor flat-lined at the last wire getting yanked away. Kicking the offending objects aside, America turned back to the aliens and opened his mouth to speak again with the room went pitch black.

_… The signal. They used the signal, and it worked!_

A hush of shocked silence followed before a nasally, piercing whine came from the aliens in the corner. The sound radiated _fear_.

"Quiet!" America demanded, despite him unable to see anything. The alien's whines lessoned, as if they were pressing their hands to their faces to muffle the sound. The room shuddered, a groan came through the metal, and a single red light clicked on near the door.

Taking a moment to allow his eyes to readjusted, he glanced around the room. The aliens were still huddled in the corner, the alien in his grip trembling.

"… What the fuck… how the hell can there be power?" America growled, and turned back to the group. "Can anyone speak English? Anyone?"

The aliens all stared at him blankly, save for one in the front, who shook his head negatively.

"French? Spanish?" America knew he was stretching it, as his grasp of the two languages was poor. "… Russian?" _I only know a few words and phrases but hell its worth a try._

The alien in front, looking more like a doctor, continued to shake his head. His lips puckered and with a hawking, gasping choke, spat a wad of spit to the floor where America stood. The warm, sticky fluid landed on the toes of his left foot. America breathed, and stared at the alien, a trembling filling his chest.

The last of his patience gone, America flung his hostage away into the wall with a sickening crunch. Picking up a rolling stand of medical instruments, America wielded it as if it were a bat and slammed it down on them, catching two aliens on the head. They dropped to the floor. The doctor and two others picked up whatever weapons they could find and threw themselves at him.

America rolled away with practiced ease, having had hundreds of years of personal, hand to hand combat experience, and grabbed one by the neck. Picking him up, he flung him into a chair, which collapsed and crashed to the floor from the force of the throw. The other two came at him, all gripping saws and sharp cutting instruments. America shot his hand forward, grabbing one alien by the wrist, yanked him to America's chest and turning him around, using him as a shield against the doctor's attack, which stabbed the alien in the chest. The doctor hissed in surprise, moaning at his mistake. America flung the dead alien away and grabbed the doctor. Picking him up from the floor, he slammed him back down to the chair, picked up a piece of metal from the rolling stand lying forgotten on the floor, and wrapped it around his wrists and the chair arm rests as if it were a piece of clay.

Panting softly, America leaned forward and peered into the aliens glaring, haughty gaze.

"Try anything else, and you're head is going through that wall."

* * *

_Next Chapter: With the aliens growing more chaotic and violent by the second, America helps Canada back to his feet; Using the captured alien doctor, America forces the aliens to show him where their captured gear and clothing is being stored; the twins re-establish communication with Germany and the others, and set their sights on rescuing Russia._

A/n: Just an fyi, for those that don't get their updates from the Russiamerica community at live journal, there's only about four chapters left of this. Chances are there will probably be an epilogue, so technically around 26 chapters total. I hope all of you stick with me to the end :)_  
_

Extra Notes:

"**Kenāne"** – Her name is actually based off a word from the extinct language of the Pamunkey Native Americans. The original word is "Kenaanee", meaning friendship. She's based off of my "version" of a native America-tan. She's strong, but as time went on, her strength waned…for obvious reasons many of you already know. I think its something America wants to keep "in his closet/storage room". Sort of an out of sight, out of mind thing, because…I think he regrets what happened, in a way. But…that's just me ^^;


	22. Chapter 22

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & mature themes.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

**Note:** This chapter is unbeta'd.

* * *

The operating room held the stench of chemicals, old air and alien blood. Darkness filled the room like the fog rolling on a northern shore, save for a tiny red light by the door. It offered a crimson glow, providing just enough light to see the shadowed objects and alien bodies on the floor. A gurgle pierced the air at America's right; he wheeled around and reached for Canada, tearing the chains from his ankles and wrists. Black and blue bruises circled the skin beneath the chains, showing signs of forced escape attempts.

"Matt-…hey you okay?" America gasped, leaning in closer to his twins face. "Can you speak?"

Canada's lips curled back, his neck twisted, a faint _crack_ came from the joints popping. His eyelids cracked open, blinking once, twice, before widening in realization at the dark room.

"Wha-…uh…?" He coughed and blinked again, his eyes going in and out of focus. "I…"

America frowned and held his hand up. "Nod if you can see my hand."

Canada let his head fall back to the pillow and nodded once, slowly. America curled his thumb and two fingers to his palm, holding out two fingers.

"How many fingers do you see?"

He peered at America's fingers for a long moment. "…four?" His voice was hoarse and low from the misuse. "…I think."

America pulled his hand away, eyebrows creasing together in worry.

_Double vision? Is that from the medicine? Or the anesthetic?_

"Can you stand?"

Canada tried lifting himself up, paused, and fell back down. "I…no." He panted softly, pupils dilating. "Can't…ah-"

"It's that damn anesthetic they pumped in you." America snapped, shooting a glare at the doctor before turning back to his brother. "Here, I'll put you in something…"

America surveyed the room, looking for anything he might use to bring Canada in. The chairs were mostly destroyed from the fight, save for the one the doctor was in. The legs were stiff and grinded against the floor when moved. The bed had wheels, but it was too big. Dragging it along might slow them down.

_It'll cause too much noise if I drag him in that…it'll have to be in a sheet or something. Plus, if the aliens are as hostile as the ones in here…_

Turning back to his brother, he stepped close to the bedside and hooked his arms under the blanket, one under his knees, and the other under his back.

"I'd carry you on my back but…I wanna have my hands free in case the bastard doctor tries anything…" America lifted him, stepped away, and lowered him to the floor. Tying the sheet around him, preventing him from sliding off, America tightened each knot and, after a moment of checking his work, turned back to the doctor. "You're going to tell me where our _stolen_ gear is being held."

America stepped close; the doctor reared his head back, his throat and mouth working another wad of spit to launch at him. Clenching his fingers in a tight fist, America slammed it across the doctor's jaw with just enough force to pain him, but not do any permanent damage. Tearing the bar away from the doctor's wrists, he grabbed the alien by the neck, dragged him kicking and screeching across the room and slammed his head into counter at the far corner. The doctor clawed at him, struggling every step of the way. America tucked the doctor's head under his arm, squeezing the neck between his arm and chest. He grabbed one hand scratching at his arm and crushed the wrist with a squeeze. The alien screeched in pain, and grew still just long enough for America to grab his other flailing hand. Reaching into the sink, America picked up a scalpel and gently pressed it to the alien's first finger.

"Tell me where our gear is."

The doctor hissed, shaking his head in defiance.

"_Tell me_ where it is or you'll lose a finger!" America demanded. "I _know_ you can understand me!"

The doctor hissed and wriggled his body, trying to get his head out from under America's arm.

America slammed the scalpel on the first digit, cleaving it off. Green blood spurted from the open wound as a piercing screech erupted from the doctor.

"Tell me!" America growled. "_Right now_!"

The doctor sagged, shaking his head, his lips sealed shut. America pressed the knife to the next joint.

"Tell me where our guns are or else I'll cut another off."

The doctor trembled, his eyes squeezed shut. Seconds passed before America gently applied pressure to the joint. The doctor jerked away and nodded over and over again, eyes wide and fearful.

"I…tell you." His voice rasped. "Guns are near. _Near_!"

America dragged him to the door. Picking up the sheet that held Canada, he pulled him to the door and gently set him back down to the ground. America grabbed a crevice in the door and with a mighty heave, threw it open. The doctor stared, wide-eyed with surprise. America pointed the scalpel at him and leveled a narrowed glare.

"Lead the way."

* * *

Blood red lights dotted the ceiling in a single row, like a string of LED Christmas lights. The electrical hum, the tremble of the distant engines, the oxygenated air blowing through metal vents… all silenced. Only the sounds of breathing, two pairs of feet padding against the floor, and Canada being dragged filled the stale air. The silence felt almost tangible, like an invisible wall pressing against them from all directions.

Voices echoed from the vents, soft and muttering, hissing and wheezing. It came at random, sometimes happening every few seconds, others for every minute or two. The silence pressed into his chest, his ears ringing.

"What are those lights?" America asked suddenly, wishing to break the quiet. "Why are they on?"

The alien said nothing at first, and just when America was going to turn his attention away, he spoke.

"Warn…important." The doctor struggled to find the correct vocabulary. "From…power storage."

"You mean batteries?" America questioned once more. "This ship is running off of battery?"

"Not computer. Not…" He motioned with his hand to his chest, and emphasized his breathing. "that. Only light."

"Breathing…you mean, oxygen? The environment systems are offline?" A cold tremor ran down his spine. _So we're slowly filling this place up with CO__2__… how much oxygen would there be in a ship this big?_ "The batteries only power these lights, so you can see what you're doing?"

The alien nodded and said nothing while turning a corner. Another long hall greeted them, only this one had large windows on one side. The natural glow of earth came into view, filling the hall with reflected sunlight. Warmth filled him at the sight of his beautiful home planet, but instead of feeling happy and relieved, he felt his throat tighten and close up. A trembling filled him, and he quickly snapped himself out of it by biting his tongue and tightening his hold on the scalpel. The sight only served to remind him of the grave situation he was in. Trapped on a dying ship with nothing but a surgical dress, a scalpel, and his hostage. Canada moved up from the blanket he lay on, his eyes widening at the sight of Earth.

White and gray clouds spread across the surface of earth, covering bits of India and China, but leaving the huge landmass of Russia unmarred. His heart squeezed at the sight, and America took the second to try and make out the eastern coastline. The edges were blurred, as if one was looking through smudged glass. America reached up to take Texas off his face and check the lenses. His hand pressed to his nose, his fingers rubbing the bridge. Eyes widening, America felt his face.

Texas was gone.

Why didn't he notice it when he awoke? The missing weight from his nose and ears. The outline of the lenses, each out of focus and unnoticeable._Is Texas…did they…no. __**No**__. I can't worry about that. Not right now. They probably just took them away with the other gear. I was just too…too freaked out when I woke up to notice._ He swallowed and prodded the alien doctor with his scalpel, urging him on down the hall. _My glasses didn't disappear. If Texas was killed I would notice it. I would…__**wouldn't**__ be able to walk. Not like this._

The doctor finally came to a stop outside a large, thick blast door. The metal was a murky black, rejecting the rays of light being reflected from Earth through the window.

"This is it?" America asked, turning the alien around to glare into his face, looking for any hint of a lie. "Our stuff is in there?"

A quick nod and the alien backed away. Trembling and shying away, fear filled his eyes.

America pulled Canada to the wall facing the window, letting him sit up in an attempt to quicken his recovery from the drugs. Turning back to the door, America yanked the alien back to him, grabbed the door with his other hand and with a grunt, used his feet to push against the floor and in turn, force the door to slide open with a rush. Aliens shrieked and hissed in surprise, many opening fire. America had a brief moment of panic as his mind put the bullets and the glass window behind him together. Imagining him and Canada being sucked into space, America flung the doctor at the panicked soldiers in an attempt to prevent the bullets from shattering the glass window behind him. The soldiers paused in their shooting, surprised at the brash move.

A spare second of silence stretched; America took advantage and surged forward, tearing an alien pistol from the hands of a soldier. Blinking once, America aimed and fired the pistol in rapid succession, shooting the last four soldiers in the head. Green exploded from the wounds, spraying the walls, the floor, and his chest. A foul stench flooded the air; it took every shred of willpower not to retch. Calling on his centuries of experience in eating England's frightening cooking, he breathed through his mouth, finding it helped somewhat, and turned himself in a circle, running his gaze around the room.

"Are they dead?" Canada called, seeming more coherent. "You killed them?"

"They're dead." America managed, eyes watering from the stench. "I'll bring you in here-"

"No." Canada cut him off. "I like it out here. Just give me your gun."

America squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself not to let a single tear fall no matter how much his eyes stung from the noxious odor, and stepped into the hall. Canada stared at the earth through the window, seeming almost transfixed at the sight.

_He's been here the longest. Stuck in that room…alone…_

"Here." America held out the pistol, unable to finish that thought. Canada took it, looking the strange weapon over before calmly letting his hand fall back to his lap. America swallowed the lump down his throat. "I…can you stand?"

"Give me a moment." Canada pleaded, and as an afterthought, added: "Please."

America nodded, despite knowing he wasn't looking at him and therefore couldn't see him acknowledging him, and walked back into the room. The stink struck him squarely in the face. His chest heaved, but he bit his tongue and forced the dry retch back down.

Glancing around the room, he searched the various cupboards and cabinets in search of their gear. One door held firm, the lock keeping it from opening. America merely applied his strength and tore the door clean off. Inside was their clothing, their packs, their gear…and their glasses. Sighing in relief, he put his battered lenses on and handed the other set of lenses to Canada, who put them on as well. Turning back to the clothing, he lifted them his face. Pure elation filled him as the familiar smell of dirt, sweat and earthy musk filled his senses. _Normally_ he might have been turned away from the smell, as it _normally_ would have stunk rather badly. But after smelling nothing but alien medicine, the stale air of the ship, and the noxious stench of the dead aliens, it was as if he were a young boy again, smelling the roses England brought with him from his homeland.

He flung the door away, uncaring of where it landed, and pulled their belongings from the cabinet. A distant _clank_ sounded behind him. Faint radio static flooded the room.

Turning slowly, America stepped across the room, following the sound. A console stood on the far left wall. The power was off, the controls turned off, save for a separate portable two-way radio. It was an older radio…America snatched it up.

_This was the radio Nevada gave me at Area 51. They took it from my pack!_

America twisted the _channels_ dial, turning it one way, then the other very slowly. A voice came through. It was Germany. America jumped at the sound of his voice and dropped the radio to the floor.

"Al?" Canada's voice called from outside hall. "Was that…Germany I heard?"

Dropping the thing in surprise, America picked it back up, clicked the transmitter button.

"Hello? _Hello_?" America called, desperation sinking into his voice. He picked up their things and rushed into the outside hall, dropping everything to the floor to kneel beside his twin. "Ludwig? Hello-?"

Canada's eyes widened at the radio. "Give him a chance to talk!" He snatched the radio from America and held it out, his fingers far away from the transmit button.

Germany's voice came through, the signal weak, but faint enough to hear through the static. "-ins. What is-… situation?" Germany's voice cut in and out of the storm of static noise.

Canada brought the radio to his face and clicked the transmitter button. "Everything is offline- save for the remaining power in the battery storage. Alfred and I just found our clothing, guns and other gear."

The two waited in silence. America chewed his bottom lip and separated their clothing.

"Hey…" America frowned. "Ivan's stuff is missing."

Canada turned to him. "What?"

"His clothing and gear…it's not here."

His twin frowned, but before he could comment on it the radio crackled to life.

"….can see where you are on this map. - vessel twenty one." The twins leaned closer to the radio, straining to hear Germany through the static. "Ivan is on vessel twenty-two. You must head for -…" The signal weakened, Germany's voice faded.

"Wait- what did he just say?" America clenched his fingers into the his pants lying waded in his lap. "He didn't say Ivan was on _another ship_, did he?"

Canada fiddled with the radio and channel settings. Germany's voice came back.

"-suits in storage room opposite end of hall, just in case the connecting tunnel is in vacuum. Copy?"

America gawked at the radio. Canada hesitated a moment before clicking the transmitter button once again.

"Negative. We lost the signal. Repeat last message."

"You are on vessel twenty one. Ivan is on vessel twenty-two. You must head down the hall you are in now to reach a tunnel that connects the two ships together. The tunnel might be in vacuum now, due to the loss of power. There is another storage room nearby the connecting tunnel that might hold space suits. Use them to cross the tunnel. Copy?"

America and Canada stared at each other for a long moment.

Canada swallowed audibly and clicked the button. "Copy." He let his hand drop to his lap. "I guess…that's why his belongings arn't here."

A stiff nod and America stood.

"…I'm gonna get dressed." America tugged his boxers on, then his old, frayed blue-jeans. Tearing the surgical clothing off, he tugged an old red shirt on. Turning to Canada, he held up his clothes. "Lemme help ya…"

America helped dress Canada in his clothing he wore the day he got captured. Stiff, dried blood touched his fingers; eyes locking onto the stain, America gazed at it for a long moment before Canada leaned away. America raised his gaze to his twin's face. Canada kept his eyes averted.

"...I'm sorr-"

"Don't apologize." Canada's voice was soft. "You would do it again."

"_What_?"

"If you're state was in trouble like that…you would run after them again." Canada tilted his head, shooting a side-long glance at him. "That's how you were captured, wasn't it?"

America frowned.

"I knew it." Canada sighed. "Who was it this time?"

"…Nevada."

"Hm." Canada _humphed_, his shoulder's sagged. "But… I would've done the same. If it were one of mine…or you...France or England…"

"Matt-…I…" America felt his throat closing up. "I'm glad you're okay…but I'm…glad you're here. Too."

Canada fell silent. His head straightened as he turned to stare at America.

"That's pretty selfish…huh?" America tried laughing, but it came out as a breathless gasping sound. "I… ah…" Liquid heat filled his eyes. He cursed himself and bit his tongue, hoping the pain would override the rush of broiling emotion. "I know things were bad. **Are** bad. With you in that room. Alone. With them… questioning and…ah." America pressed his lips together and slowly counting to ten in his head. _I am not crying. I am __**not crying**__. I'm stronger than this, damnit._ "And I…don't know what-"

Canada pressed a hand to America's mouth. A tiny smile stretching across his face. "And I don't know what I'd do without you either- what with you constantly dragging me into trouble. Always causing problems and putting your foot into your mouth at _every_ available occasion. Always seeming to attract the attention of every alien patrol within five miles with your obnoxiously loud voice and making Ivan and I bail you out of trouble. Drinking the last of the coffee four months ago. Making fun of my polar bear boxers while you wore those stupid pink ones with the red stars that _Ivan apparently gave you_. Eating my pancakes despite them being horrible and full of weevils. Making me laugh when things got bad… playing my folk songs on your fiddle…"

Canada stretched his arms out. America leaned forward and hugged him deeply, pressing his face into the familiar crook of his brother's neck, and smelling that ever familiar, albeit faint, scent of pine and endless prairies. Canada squeezed his eyes shut and relished his brother's warmth.

"I'm glad you're here too, Alfred."

The two took a moment to relax in the familiar comfort and safety that they brought each other with their hugs. It was something they did as children, when scared in the night of things they couldn't see. England would find them the next morning with their arms wrapped around each other, America with his face buried in Canada's shoulder, Canada with his arms wrapped around his southern twin, trying to be the braver of the two.

They parted with reluctance. Both knew they'd never speak of this to the other nations…save for their significant other's…_if_ they asked.

"Are the weapons ready?" Canada asked, eyeing their backpacks. "I'll cover the rear, you get the front."

America nodded, handing him a rifle with five ammo clips. "Make every shot count, and avoid hitting _anything_. Last thing we need is putting a hole through the hull and being sucked out into vacuum."

His twin nodded, swallowing audibly. "Right."

"I'll take the magnum." America reached down and picked up the end of the blanket. "Let me know when you think you can walk, okay?"

"Of course."

"Alright then."

America started down the long hall.

"Let's go get Ivan."

* * *

"Have you found the tunnel yet?" Germany's voice came through the static-filled signal. "According to Tony, the ship you are on is beginning to run low on oxygen."

America peered through the tiny window of the airlock. Another tiny room stood beyond the thick, massive door, where another small window was in place. The window blurred suddenly, and America squeezed his eyes shut as a headache slammed against his skull.

"Yeah we found it."

"Is the tunnel still intact?"

America took in slow, deep breathes. Cracking his eyes open, he blinked a few times and peered through his glasses into the window. Shafts of light and dark splotches filled the opposite window. Objects floated past. Disappointment filled him.

"Ah…that's a negative." He leaned away from the window and walked, slowly, to the storage room. "Hey Matt-…did you find them yet?"

Silence answered him.

"Matt?" America called again. "Mattie?"

Still not getting a response, America frowned and quickened his pace. Entering the doorway, he stepped inside and found his brother sitting on the floor. Several white astronaut uniforms and space suits surrounded him.

"You found them!" America exclaimed. "Where…were they?" He voice faltered at he followed his brother's gaze to the one of the white space suits. A black, burnt hole was on the sleeve. Canada poked his finger through the hole. "Ah…"

He had always wondered what happened to them… but always, _always_ he put it out of his mind. He didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to know what happened to those people who were fulfilling their dreams. They were a nation's pride and joy; their citizens that went into space. They read about them and boasted about their achievements, all the while prideful and smiling.

They were the first victims. The first in a long line of deaths and atrocities. They were the ones on the frontlines, on the edge of the earth's atmosphere.

"I _knew_ her." Canada whispered, eyes glassy and wavering with un-spilled tears. "She…she logged over twenty-five days in space."

America swallowed, recognizing the name on the suit. "She helped carry your flag in the last Olympic games…didn't she?"

"They were _defenseless_!" Canada growled vehemently, hot tears finally spilling over his cheeks. "They were up here for science… for _learning_ and discovery… _not for military purposes_."

"…I know."

"They had no weapons. No means of defending themselves…" Canada clenched the space suit, his fingers digging into the fabric. "And yet… these **fucking** _bastards_ shot them. **Shot them**."

America bit his tongue and shoved the well of emotions that threatened to overrun him back into the dark corner of his mind. "Matt…" He stepped closer, and kneeled beside him, sliding a hand over his shoulder and squeezing. "I know. I…it's hard for me too. But…"

"Right-…yeah." Canada sniffed, and wiped his tears away with his arm, slowly drawing himself to his feet. "We have to get Ivan."

America stood, picking up a space suit with a tiny stars and stripes on one shoulder. Pointedly _ignoring_ the nametag on the chest, he held it up to himself for measurement.

_A tight fit, but it'll have to do._

The two spent the next ten minutes dressing each other in the space suits; checking seals and cuff links, the oxygen supply and helmets. Canada dialed in the head sets that came with the suits to the radio channel Tony was using to allow communication with Germany and the others back on Earth.

"Radio check, over." America spoke into the tiny microphone curled around his jaw and positioned just over his mouth.

"Signal good." Germany's voice came through the tine speaker at America's right ear. "Better than previous one."

America checked Canada over one more time before slapping his helmet, signaling that everything was in working order. He turned and Canada did the same, checking his suit and everything before doing the same to America's own helmet. They walked through the doorway, their bags of gear and guns strapped and tied down to their waists. The airlock stood before them. Using the manual release, America used his strength to open the massive door, swinging it open and stepping inside. Canada followed, and America slammed the airlock door shut, locking it. Canada stood by the door, his hand on the red release button.

"Ready?" He asked, his voice coming through the radio at America's ear. "It's going to be a pretty violent ride."

America stepped closer, grabbed Canada's tether and then reached back to a handlebar sticking from the wall. America circled his fingers around it and turned back to his brother.

"Ready."

Canada clenched his fist and slammed it on the red button. The outside airlock door exploded outward with a violent gush. Air, dust, objects both large and small were sucked from the room into vacuum, the sound a dull roar through his helmet until the air was gone, and the only sound he could hear was his own breathing and the hiss of oxygen being filtered into his suit. Using whatever he could grab and touch to move forward, he exited the outside door.

A fractured, immensely long tunnel greeted him. Shards of glass - from being the size of a single hair to as large as his leg - floated in the zero gravity. Metal beams forming the framework of the tunnel were cracked and peeled back like the skin of a banana. Droplets of green alien blood froze in the shade, and liquefied in the shafts of sunlight.

"The tunnel is really bad." America spoke to break the mind-numbing sound of his own breathing. "It's split and fractured at multiple points. Debris is everywhere."

"It's almost as if the central core kept the ships in perfect alignment, thus allowing this tunnel to exist." Canada exclaimed, he paused a moment before continuing. "Would this cause any damage to the ships?"

A pause, and then Germany's voice came through their headsets. "Our plans are too simple for any conclusive analysis. Is the tunnel safe enough to use with your unprotected suits?"

America peered into the tunnel. The shards of glass glinted in the shafts of sunlight, sparkling and glittering with deadly allure.

"There's a lot of glass floating around." America stared into the tunnel, eyes going in and out of focus while his lenses fought to correct his vision. "If our suits get even the slightest tear…" He bit his lower lip and forced the thought from his mind. "We'll have to chance it."

Canada started forward, using the tiny gas jets in his suit to propel him forward. America followed, watching his use of the jets, to conserve the gas, and taking it slow as he moved through the clouds of glittering glass.

"Germany?" America spoke again, unable to help himself. "Just…how long is this tunnel?" He checked the sensors on his suit that displayed his oxygen and gas for the tiny jets.

A pause; and then: "A little over…_your_ version of a mile."

Sweat beaded on America's forehead. "More than a _mile_?"

"Yes."

"Don't think about it." Canada urged in an insistent voice. "Just keep going."

_Right. We can use the velocity from the jets in order to make it. Don't worry about-…_

His train of thought derailed as the tunnel came to an abrupt end. The remains were completely gone and torn away, the debris burning up in the earth's atmosphere. An impossible distance stretched between them and the other ship, which was slowly pulling further and further away. Canada and America slowed to a stop at the edge. The emptiness of space surrounded them, as if they were standing on the edge of a plank, being forced to jump into the dark depths of the sea, their only salvation was the earth, looming over their shoulders. America checked his sensors again. His oxygen level was at 75 percent. The level's for the gas jets were at twenty five percent. Sneaking a glance at Canada's gauges, he found the oxygen level to be around the same, but the gauges for the gas jets was at 5 percent. Nearly empty. He swallowed and hoped no one heard him through the headset.

"What's wrong?" Germany's voice came through. "Is everything alright?"

_Damn_.

"…the tunnel is gone."

A pause; Germany's strained voice returned.

"The tunnel…is gone?"

"It's gone." America' repeated. "We have at least… uh… half a mile between us and the other ship."

America forced himself to breathe through his nose, not wanting the other's to hear his shuddering, nervous breathing. "I'll have to use up all of my fuel in my gas jets in a single powerful burst to reach it, _in time_, with a blind aim. If we're off in our aim then we'll bounce of the side of the ship and…well…"*

Canada breathed shakily into his mike, unable to help himself.

A multitude of voices came from Germany's end. America watched the ship slip further and further away. Russia was on that ship… a dead ship floating away into the depths of space. _Locked up and unable to escape._ His heart clenched, and a vision of his nightmare flashed through his mind.

_"And as the human race dies away, he __**alone**__ will remain. Forever to be in their service…with only his memories of times long past to comfort him under the dying stars of the milky way."_

"I'm going to do it." America blurted, and reached for Canada, grabbed him and pulling him to his side. "I'm doing the blind burn."

"Wait-" Canada started, his voice nervous. "We can't just jump into this-"

"The ship is nearly a mile away now!" America yelled into his mike, momentarily forgetting the powerful effect it might have on his twin's right ear drum. "We're going to do a blind burn."

"No." Germany growled into the radio. "It's too risky-"

"I did it for my Apollo 13 mission back in the sixties, didn't I?" America snapped. "We did a blind burn without the navigation computers, and it _worked_. We're doing this, and you're not stopping me. Right Matthew?"

A long, prolonged silence followed before Canada's voice came through.

"Right." His voice was firm. "We're going now."

"Okay, I'm going to tether you to me because from the look of your sensors…your fuel is nearly gone." America wrapped the long tether around their waists, tying an complicated knot he knew would never come loose. "Ready?"

He felt Canada's arms wrap around him.

"Ready."

America maneuvered himself, trying to peer into the distance and hoping to aim for the distant airlock door. Turning the dial to maximum, he smashed his thumb on the release button. The jets exploded behind him and pushed the two of them forward. His body shook from the force, his blood pumping through his veins as the ship slowly inched towards them. Abruptly, the jets sputtered and fell silent… but they still moved, the laws of physics working to propel them forward. He panted as his muscles and body tensed for impact.

The ship's hull slammed into his chest, forcing a gasping shout from him, and he clamored for a grip, digging his fingers into a metal crevice. Blinking the sweat from his eyes, he tried turning his head to glance around, but quickly remembered the physical limitations of the suit, as he had to turn his entire body in order to look around, instead of simply moving his neck and head to expand his field of vision. Clutching the hull, he turned his entire body outward and found the airlock only a few feet away. Clenching his teeth together, he inched himself along the hull, moving closer and closer to the airlock door until it was directly beside him.

Tearing a metal panel away, he peered at the manual controls for the door and found a soft manual release.

"Made it to the ship- opening the airlock door." America gasped into his headset. The heavily insulated suit was sweltering hot, causing sweat to coat his skin in a fine sheen.

He pressed a few buttons, and finally found a manual dial. Turning it, thin streams of gas escaped from the door, until a gear shifted to green and the door swung open. Reaching for the doorframe, he pulled both himself and Canada inside and with a press of a button, shut the door and waiting for the airlock to clear. The simulated gravity slowly established itself as the two landed on the floor with a faint thud. A gear clicked, and silence.

"Wait- before we take our helmets off." Canada started with a gasp. "Do the sound test. You know- just to be sure."

"Right." America walked over to a metal wall and rapped his fist against it three times. The sound was muffled, but audible through their helmets. "Sounds okay. There's air in here."*

"…right. Okay."

America cut the tether and Canada stepped away, reaching for the helmet, unlocking the seals and slowly lifted it from his head. America did the same, and found the air that greeted him was nearly freezing. His hair damp with sweat and sticking to his skull didn't help with the cold factor.

"Hurry." America insisted. "We have to get these off and…somehow find Ivan in this huge place."

"Right." Canada shakily peeled the suit off his body, revealing his old clothes, now damp and showing obvious sweat stains. "Get your weapons ready."

America finally stepped out of his suit and untied the bag, draping through his shoulders and letting it hang over his back. Reaching inside, he pulled out his magnum, checked the barrel before snapping it shut. The two kept their headsets from the suits, as they worked far better than the old radio.

"We're still looking for Ivan." Germany's voice cut in suddenly, reminding them that he had been listening in the entire time. "When you go through the door, start down the central hall before you."

Before the twins could reply, yellow flashing lights erupted from the ceiling, breaking the darkness in a confusing array of strobe-like yellow flashes.

"The airlock-" Canada rushed to the controls and checked them over, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "No…everything is locked tight."

"What is going on?" Germany asked. "Has something happened?"

"These yellow lights appeared." America explained. "They're small in size, but they're flashing like crazy. We checked the airlock to see if it was venting, but everything's fine."

"Wait- _fucking_ **damnit**." Tony's voice suddenly came through crystal clear as objects crashed about in the background. There was a fumbling, and then a sigh before his voice came back. "Are the lights only flashing in the airlock? Can you see them throughout the ship?"

"Tony!" America exclaimed and grinned, unable to help himself. "You have no idea how nice it is to hear your voice."

"Really fucking busy here, America." Tony's voice was strained and distracted. "Are the lights flashing in the ship or not?"

_He used my formal name._ America swallowed, a nervous tension taking hold. _These lights… must be a bad sign._

Canada secured the pack to his back and checked the magnum America gave him. Clenching the gun in his right hand, he stepped to the door leading inside the ship and peered through the window.

"The lights are flashing inside the ship as well, Tony." Canada narrowed his eyes at the thick glass window. "Wait- I see movement."

America stepped closer to his brother. "Who is it?"

"Soldiers!" Canada's eyes widened, his breath hitched for a moment before it was released in a _gush_. There was a clicking sound, and a grinding of gears. "They just did something!"

"Did what?" America stepped closer, alarm filling his chest. "Did they lock us in?"

"I think so. They're talking and waving their hands at us." Canada's lips pressed together in a thin line. "I think they're going to vent something in here. Maybe to knock us out-"

"The _hell_ they are-" America surged forward and grabbed the large handle on the door. Positioning his feet against the rough, metal grating below, he sucked in a breath and pushed. The door groaned under surge of force, but remained immobile. America gasped and stared at the door in surprise.

"I…can't believe it." Canada gaped at his brother in surprise. "I think we finally found the limits of your strength-"

"They're **not** going to drug us!" America shouted, irritated at his twin's lack of faith in his talent, and resumed his previous position at the door. "I'm _going to open this thing_."

"America- this isn't just some regular door. It's an _airlock_ -!"

"I _know_!" America snapped and put his strength into forcing the door inward once more. A slow burn filled his body as his muscles tensed and filled with strength. His face slowly turned pink, then red. The metal groaned, his limbs shook with excretion. Gasping, America stepped away feeling light headed.

"Just a little more, I can feel it giving way-"

"They've got someone at the controls." Canada gasped, peering into the window. "It's someone in white scrubs- a doctor!"

America circled his fingers around a hand grip on the wall, lifted his leg, grit his teeth against the onslaught of pain that would come from his scarred, blistered and ruined feet, and slammed his foot into the door. The room trembled from the blow, the metal dented inward. America pulled his foot away and did it again, the electric, stinging pain shooting up his spine. A metallic snap cracked the air; the thick metal hinges giving way under pressure. America peeled his hand from the grip and ran backward to give himself room. Canada stood away at the far wall.

Gasping once, twice, and finally sucking in a deep breath, he surged forward, putting his shoulder out as if he were a football player in his beloved super bowl game, and slammed himself into the door. The metal frame gave way and the door exploded out and into the hall, slamming into the aliens and crushing them to the floor. America collapsed to the floor, clutching his sore shoulder. Canada surged forward into the hall, rifle fully loaded and ready to fire at a moment's notice. He rushed up to the aliens, checking each one for signs of life before standing once more.

"Clear." Canada's voice was curt, his body language precise and confident. He reverted to his warfare field training, calling upon the centuries of experience in combat. Turning back, he allowed a flash of concern fill his eyes as he helped America back to his feet. "Your shoulder okay?"

"It's not dislocated, if that's what you're wondering." America winced as he pumped his arm up and around, working the shoulder joint. Lurching to his feet, he wavered a moment, his eyes going in and out of focus before blinking and narrowing. "Tony- Germany?" America called into the mike. "We got out. We're in the ship. What do these lights mean? Should we worry?"

"What color were the lights on the last ship?" Tony asked. "Were they red?"

"Yes." America shifted onto his left foot, as his right was throbbing from using it as a battering ram on the door. "They didn't flash either."

"These lights are yellow and flashing?" Tony asked, wanting confirmation.

"Yeah."

"The colors have the same usage as on earth." Tony stated. "Red is a dead color. Used when systems are at a complete failure. Yellow means warning."

"A warning?" Canada spoke up. "What warning?"

"All systems are offline. I cannot see what happened remotely." Tony explained. "But logic states that planet hunters must have attempted to use the remaining battery power to restart the engines, thus providing power to the ship, thus turning the computer network back on. But due to the lengthy amount of time having passed since the network went offline, the plan must have failed."

"Then…we're okay?" America breathed and tried keeping the hopeful tone from entering his voice. "There's nothing to worry about then. Right?"

"If that were the case, then the red lights would be showing." Tony paused a moment, papers shuffled in the background. "But the yellow lights are flashing. That can mean a number of things. By process of elimination, a hull breach and possible radiation leakage is negative."

"Radiation?" America cut in. "Are you telling me that….these engines they're using run off of nuclear power?"

"A kind of fusion technology. Humans have not successfully created it yet in large scale." Tony explained. "But the coolant used in the engines is lithium, highly flammable at certain temperatures. It may be likely that the remaining heat from the engines sparked a fire, due to the backup systems that normally prevent this are now offline."**

"A fire?" America asked, his voice rising in alarm. "The coolant they use could be **on fire**? So…if this fire reaches the main tanks…which I assume it hasn't yet… than that could mean that this ship might explode?"

"Yes!" Tony snapped. "That is why you must hurry!"

"Which is why you must find Ivan promptly." Germany's rough, commanding voice broke through the radio signal. "Start down this hall and at the third intersection, turn right. Understand?"

"Right."

Canada turned back to America, but before he could speak, there was a hissing screech from down the hall. He whipped around and raised his rifle. Aliens filled the dimly light, yellow flashing hall before them, all running at them with blunt edged weapons. Canada and America fired into the crowd, trying to make every shot count to prevent hull damage. Green blood sprayed across the walls and floor, the noxious stench filling the air once more. Gunfire and screeching flooded the air, echoing down the halls. Just when America thought his ear drums might burst, alarms exploded. One a throbbing, pulsing note, low in scale but loud in volume. The other was a shrill electric sound, starting low and rising in scale. He jumped in surprise at the sounds, his shot missing one alien and hitting the wall, ricocheting off and hitting another alien in the chest.

When the last alien fell, America quickly reloaded his magnum for the fourth time and snapped the cylinder back into place.

"These alarms must be for the fire!" Canada shouted, his voice barely heard over the cacophony of sound. "We have to hurry!"

He started forward, stepping over the dead bodies lying before them. America followed suit and the two started a running sprint down the hall.

_We're almost there Ivan. Just hang on a little bit longer.

* * *

_

**Next Chapter: **_Fighting every step of the way, the North American twins finally reach Ivan and free him from his liquid prison._

Extra Notes

**1. "****I'll have to use up all of my fuel in my gas jets in a single powerful burst to reach it, **_**in time**_**, with a blind aim. If we're off in our aim then we'll bounce of the side of the ship and…well…"** - I'll do my best to explain this…hopefully I get it right. Anyone who is in a physics class or physics/science major notices I'm wrong, please correct me/wiki. (also if I only further confuse you, apologies in advance). In space, once you start moving, you never stop unless another force acts to stop you. When the ship is moving away, America has to exceed the ships rate of velocity (or the speed at which it's moving away) in order to reach the ship. This is why America uses all of his fuel in one single burst, so he has the greatest chance of reaching a high speed. If he doesn't reach a high enough speed, he'll never catch up to the ship and they'll basically float away in space without any means of maneuvering themselves. God I hope this made sense lol

**2. "Sounds okay. There's air in here."** - Basically, sound cannot travel through vacuum. It can only travel through a solid, a liquid, or a gas. But not vacuum. So all those huge explosions and space battles you see in sci-fi flicks? They should all be silent in order to be scientifically accurate.

**3. "A kind of fusion technology. Humans have not successfully created it yet in large scale." Tony explained. "But the coolant used in the engines is lithium, highly flammable at certain temperatures. It may be likely that the remaining heat from the engines sparked a fire, due to the backup systems that normally prevent this are now offline."** - So, basically, there have been large scale experiments where fusion power has been successful (i.e., the hydrogen bomb), but scientists are still struggling with the excessive heat it produces during long term usage. (The nuclear power plants you see being used in large scale are fission plants, not fusion plants). At least to my knowledge. And here from wiki: "Most reactor designs rely on the use of liquid lithium as both a coolant and a method for converting stray neutrons from the reaction into tritium, which is fed back into the reactor as fuel. Lithium is highly flammable, and in the case of a fire it is possible that the lithium stored on-site could be burned up and escape." ***Edited and corrected, thanks to Fantasyname! Remember guys, I get most of my info from wikipedia. So if you find anything horribly inaccurate, don't hesitate to let me know so I can change it!***


	23. Chapter 23

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & mature themes.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

**Note:** Just wanted to remind everyone that Russia is still suffering from anesthesia awareness. He can hear, see (if his eyelids aren't closed) and feel everything that's going on around him, but he has no control over his body. At least until the anesthesia wears off. Also, sorry for the abnormally long delay, I've been busy with the holidays and with the santa exchange at the russiamerica lj community.

* * *

Alarms blared and echoed in the vast alien hallways. Yellow lights flashed at uneven intervals, shadows stretching and shrinking with the differing light. Alien screeches and screams flooded the halls.

"Where now!" Canada shouted into the headset while shooting down three aliens ahead and racking his rifle, chambering more rounds before resuming fire. "We're coming up to the next intersection!"

America ran after his twin with his torso twisted back, his magnum aimed behind and gunning down the aliens chasing after them. It clicked empty and he reached for his ammo belt while snapping the cylinder open, tossing the brass shells to the floor with a twist of his wrist, tore six more bullets free and slid each in place. Snapping the cylinder back into the frame, America resumed shooting. With each alien that went down, another took its place, leaving an endless stream of bodies littering the halls in their wake. The fast, sprinting pace had been going on for several minutes now. His lungs felt raw, his heart pounded against his ribcage, his muscles ached and burned, his feet throbbed with each pulsing heartbeat.

The intersection rushed up to greet them, and Canada lunged to the left. America followed, his magnum clicking empty once more. Reloading and resuming fire within record timing, America tried straining his ears to listen for the speaker at his right ear, but he could hear nothing. He honestly had no idea how Canada was hearing Germany over the mindless, earsplitting wall of sound surrounding them. A click of his empty gun, and he went to reload, and found his ammo belt empty. Cursing, he reached back into his pack and rifled through it, trying to find another box of ammo. Aliens screeched at them from all over, Canada's rifle finally clicked empty. He slammed his palm into a door to the right, shoving it open. America fell inside and Canada shut the door, locking it. Tearing the empty ammo clip away, he flung it to the floor and rifled through his pack for another. Snapping it back into place, he turned to America.

"Where the fuck is it!" America threw his pack to the floor, tore it open and emptied the contents. "I know I had another box of ammo!"

The aliens pounded at the door, clawing and scratching at it in desperation.

Canada stepped forward and fell to his knees, tearing his own pack away from his back and opening it. He searched the contents of his pack alongside America, running his fingers over everything until they ran across a small yellow box.

"Here!" Canada shoved the box at America, who tore the box open and put the bullets in his belt. Seconds passed, and he used the remaining six to reload his gun. "We're not going to have any ammo much longer." Canada looked around the room, finding it to be a medical supply room of sorts. He ran across the room and flung the cabinets open. Tearing bags of syringes and boxes of various instruments away and to the floor, he came across a series of metal crutches. Picking them up, he handed one to America, who took it and snapped the longest piece of metal from it. A pipe about half the length of his leg. He handed it back to Canada, who gave him the other crutch. America did the same to it, and turned to the door.

"Ready?" America asked, turning back to Canada, who nodded and raised his rifle.

America clicked open the lock, tore the door back and away. Aliens fell into the room just as Canada opened fire. A steady stream of bullets hit the crowd of aliens. Canada cut off the stream of bullets and America picked off the remaining aliens. The two resumed their sprinting pace, running down the halls and forcing their way through the crowds of alien soldiers, medical personnel and ships workers. America reloaded his magnum again and again, the barrel growing hot with repeated use. They came to another intersection and Canada shouted into the headset at Germany for directions. He turned to the right and ran down a long hall, windows on either side revealing a large open space within the ship, showing homes and a self-contained environment, plants and lakes created for the enjoyment of the aliens. Canada slammed into a door and tried opening it. It held firm, locked. America stood before Canada and shot at the aliens that rush at them, hitting their heads with each shot, spraying alien blood across the windows. He reloaded and continued shooting, the aliens continuing to throw themselves at them. Behind him Canada shouted into the headset, arguing with Germany.

"Its _locked_ Germany! I can't open it!" Canada didn't fire his rifle, as he was on his last clip and wanted to conserve the ammo. "I **said** I can't open it! It's locked!"

A round object flew through the air and landed at America's feet. A grenade. Lunging to the floor, America picked it up and flung it back down the hall. A small explosion shook the hall; a fireball flaring out and over the ceiling until it disappearing with a cloud of smoke. America pulled his shirt up and over his mouth and nose to keep from breathing the noxious fumes. Aliens poured through smoky hall, and America shot each one by one.

Canada shouted in French behind him. America found he couldn't concentrate enough to translate the words. Suddenly his twin slapped his shoulder and ran ahead.

"This way!" He called to him, and America followed.

The two continued through the halls. Forcing their way through to Russia while the aliens tried their damnedest to stop them. Gunfire, alarms, screaming and shouting all echoed and flooded the air. It seemed almost endless as Canada followed the directions being shouted at him from earth, leading them through a labyrinth-like series of tunnels and twisting turns. The alien's repeated attempts to stop them grew more desperate and dangerous, blunt edged weapons turned to guns, guns turned to rifles, grenades of smoke and poisonous gas was attempted but failed due to the twins not staying stationary for very long. Finally they came to one hall that was wide and the doors looking far different than the others, thicker and seeming more protected.

Canada broke right, and threw his shoulder into a metal door, slamming it open. America sprinted inside and Canada slammed the door-shut and leaned back against it, throwing his weight into it as the aliens outside clawed and tried forcing the door open. Aliens already inside the room screeched and lunged at America, who only raised his pipe and attacked them, sending each to the floor with a single hit. When the last one fell, America wilted and pressed his hands to his thighs, gasping for air, his face red from exertion.

"There!" Canada exclaimed, his voice growing hoarse from overuse. "Ivan- at the wall-"

America picked himself up turned. There, inside a metal container with a large glass window was Ivan. A black mask covered the lower half of his face. Blue liquid filled the cylinder to the brim, black cloth straps kept Ivan fully submerged. He was dressed in nothing but cream-colored boxers, stained blue from the liquid. Eyes widening, he rushed across the room and pressed his hands to the glass.

"Ivan!" America pulled away when he found him unresponsive. "We have to get you out of there." Looking over the thing, he found a panel filled with buttons. After pressing and smashing at them for a second and getting no response, America turned away and picked up the pipe he took from the metal crutches earlier.

"Can't you pry it open?" Canada asked, struggling with the door.

"It's too small, I might end up injuring him in the process." America raised the pipe, sucked in a breath and slammed it at the glass. Cracks erupted and splayed out like a spider web. "Damn safety glass!" America raised the pipe and slammed it into the glass again and again until glass chunks fell away and frigid, thick liquid gushed from the vat. America hissed and clutched his hands to his chest for a moment.

"What-what is it?" Canada gasped. "Did it burn?"

"No- its freezing!" America exclaimed, taking a moment to flex his fingers in an attempt to regain blood flow before tearing chunks of glass away and flinging them to the soaked floor. "Why did they have him soaking in this shit?"

"Just _hurry_- I can't hold this door forever!"

Clearing the last jagged piece of glass away, America pressed a hand to Russia's thick, barrel-like chest, wincing at the frozen temperature of his pale skin, and tore the cloth bonds away one by one. Peeling the black mask away last, America wrapped an arm around Russia and extracted him from the chamber, stumbling back a moment from the dead weight of his large body before gently laying him on a bed at the opposite end of the room.

Tearing the bed sheets away, he dried his body off, clearing away the frigid liquid. Rubbing his hair dry, America leaned in close and tapped his palm against Russia's frozen cheek.

"Hey- Ivan! Wake up! _Please_ wake up-" America patted his palm on his cheek a little harder before pinching it. Russia remained immobile and unresponsive. A lump of fear wedged itself in America's throat, a desperate edge filtered into his voice. "Ivan! Come on man you gotta wake up…Please…**please** wake up."

America leaned in close and pulled his eyelids back. Dilated pupils gazed back at him blankly.

"Ivan! **Ivan**!" America gripped his shoulders and shook him gently. "Shit! They have him drugged to hell. He's not moving at all Matt!" America turned away from Russia and faced his brother. "What are we going to do? How the fuck are we gonna get out of here?"

"Working on it." Germany growled into the radio. "Give us a moment."

"We don't **have** a _moment_!" Canada snapped angrily. "There's hundreds of aliens outside this door that want us dead!"

"Then find a way to barricade the door because this will take a **moment**!" Germany yelled back.

A string of lapsing French and English curses escaped Canada's mouth as he grunted at the strain of keeping the door shut. America looked around the room until they landed on the metal cylindrical vat Ivan was just soaking in.

"We'll use that!" America rushed forward, grasped the container and with a strained grunt, lifted the thing with shaking limbs. Crossing the room with heavy footsteps, he slammed it to the door. Canada picked up other various furniture and shoved it to the door as well. The two stepped away and stared at the door until confident it wouldn't budge an inch. Canada turned to America and ran a critical eye over him.

"You're shaking." Canada frowned and crossed the distant between them, picking up his brother's trembling hands. "Are you okay?"

"It's nothing." America gave a weak smile and pulled his hands away. "It happens when I use my strength too much."

Aliens screeched and hissed outside, slamming and clawing at the door. Yellow lights flashed in the room. Alarms sounded and blared. Both twins sighed at the same time and tried to appreciate the break in running and shooting.

"How much longer Germany?"Canada asked, his voice subdued. "This door won't hold forever."

Raised voices filled the background. Germany's gruff, yet tired voice came through. "We're still figuring something out. We can't have Tony save you because he's busy keeping the alien's technology dead…so we're trying to find something on the ship you can use to get back to earth."

"Right." Canada sighed and raked a hand through his dirty hair. "It's going to be a few minutes."

America nodded silently, worry and tension creased into his face, and crossed the room to Russia's bedside. The elder nation lay eerily still, his skin a deathly pale. America gazed down at him for a moment, taking in his overwhelming presence. He engulfed the bed, his long legs extending beyond the edge of the mattress, his feet hanging limply. Reaching up, he pushed the mike away from his mouth and leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. His skin hot and sweaty, Ivan's frigid and damp, two extremes meeting together. America relished the cold burn and wrapped an arm around him and slid his forehead back and away. America peered at Russia, his sleeping face calm and smooth, quiet and peaceful. Reaching up, he pushed Russia's hair back from his face, his temples, and his neck.

_It's bare._ America suddenly realized, pulling away. _I have to cover it._

Crossing the room to the medical supplies, he tore a box open and rifled through the contents.

"What are you doing?" Canada asked, turning confused. "Is he hurt?"

"No it's not that." America picked up a thick package of gauze. "I need to cover Ivan's neck. I…it's just a courtesy, okay?" The words gushed from America's mouth as he suddenly grew bashful. "If he wakes up, he'll feel better with that on. He won't freak out or anything."

Allowing an amused smile to fill his face, Canada merely nodded and turned away. America bit his lower lip and returned to Russia's bedside. Preparing the roll of gauze, he pressed it to his throat and slowly wrapped the white bandage around his neck, covering the scars with layer after layer of soft white gauze. The roll ended, and America tied it off, making sure it wasn't too tight or too loose. Running a critical eye over his handiwork, he nodded in acceptance and darted a quick look back to his twin. Canada still had his back turned and was arguing with France - in his native tongue - about something. Turning back to Russia, America dragged a chair over and sat beside him. Glancing back to his brother once again, he turned back and shyly curled his fingers over Russia's limp hand, squeezing it softly.

"Hey…uh…I doubt you can hear this. Being drugged the way you are." America whispered lamely. "But… I'm glad you're here. That… they didn't…" He sighed. _Thank god he can't hear this._ "I'm glad you're still freakishly tall and big… that…your still pale and… your hair is still the same… I promised I'd save you if they captured you, didn't I? Well I got you out of that thing…but now… I don't know if we'll make it back to earth. Nothing is working…there's a fire on the ship and the aliens want to kill us and-"

He interrupted himself squeezed Russia's hand again, sighing once more.

"Even though thing's are bleak, and even though we might not make it - and…ah-" America swallowed the lump back down his throat as the lingering memory of his nightmare flashed through his mind. "I couldn't let them do that to you. Change you into one of them. Make them work for you when… you remember everything – remember your people and culture, your home and your family. Being all alone… I couldn't let that happen. So here I am." America struggled to convey his feelings, smiling despite the wilting dread filling his gaze. "If we make it out of this alive… I'll do anything- no." He thought better and switched gears. "I'll eat that borscht soup you always wanted me to try…even though it looked weird." America sighed, his body beginning to ache now that the adrenaline rush was ending. "Just please… wake up soon."

He fell silent and remained at Russia's beside, keeping his fingers circled around the larger, colder hand. He listened to Canada arguing into the headset while raised voices came from the other end in the speaker at his ear. There was a sudden shout through the speaker, a fumbling, and then Denmark's voice came through.

"This is the _only_ option you have. The ship you are on is dying and the fire could reach the main storage tanks and explode at any moment." Denmark's tone was strict, firm, and unforgiving. "The shipping bay is your only choice. Once you are there you can check any remaining alien ships to see if they can be flown manually, without electric power or navigational computers."

"How far away is it from our current position?" America asked, jerking the microphone back down to his mouth. "We're running out of ammo. Matt has a single clip left in his rifle and I'm down to-" He checked his magnum and his ammo belt. "-30 rounds."

"You can either take a chance, or stay in that room until the ship blows up." Denmark stated in simple terms. "It is the only option you have left."

America bit his bottom lip and turned to Canada. The twins stared at each other for a long moment before silently nodding at each other.

"We'll try it." Canada confirmed into the headset. "Get the directions ready for us while we prepare." Canada jerked the microphone away and crossed the room to America. "How are we going to carry Ivan?"

"A fireman's' carry?" America turned back to face Russia. "If we're going to be running, it'll be the easiest way to carry him."*

"What about the aliens?" Canada frowned. "They'll be shooting at us-"

"They won't aim for Ivan, not if they want him so badly."

"Hmm… right. Okay." Canada lifted his rifle and handed it to America. "You won't be able to reload with only one hand. I'll use the magnum, you use the rifle."

America nodded, handing Canada the ammo belt and magnum holster while he took the rifle. He took a moment to familiarize himself with the weapon before setting it on a nearby countertop. Returning to Russia, he pulled him up into a sitting position and bending over, he grabbed Russia's right arm and leg and slung him across his shoulders. Hooking his right arm around Russia's right leg and gripping his right arm to keep him firmly on his shoulders, America stood and reached for the rifle with his left hand.

"When I kick the metal thing away-" America motioned to the cylindrical metal vat Russia was previously soaking in. "You open fire and I'll join you with the rifle. When the aliens are dead, we'll go."

"Agreed." Canada nodded, tugged the microphone back down to his mouth and reloaded the magnum, snapping the cylinder back into the frame and holding the gun out before him. "I'll lead and you follow, as you'll be slower from carrying him."

"Right." America moved to the door and taking a moment to steady himself, raised his left foot and pressed it to the vat. "Ready?"

Canada nodded once, eyes narrowed in determination. Sucking in a breath, America smashed his foot to the vat, kicking it across the room. The door flew open, aliens pouring in through the narrow doorway, and Canada started firing into the crowd. America stumbled backward, steadied himself, raised the rifle and shot into the crowd until the aliens lay dead in a bloody, stinking mess.

"Let's go!" Canada shot forward and darted through the doorway. "Hurry!"

America shrugged his shoulders to get Russia better positioned and started forward after Canada.

"I'm right behind you!"

* * *

Northern Rural Germany

"… -won't be able to reload with only one hand. I'll use the magnum, you use the rifle."

Canada's voice came through the radio speaker sitting in the center of the table. Various European nations all crowded around it, listening intently as the twins make preparations. Germany and Denmark marked the route they planned to take in pencil on a piece of scrap paper. Belgium and France scanned through the map on the alien console. England stared at the radio speaker, dark circles settling under his evergreen eyes as exhaustion took hold. Varied sounds came from the speaker; the canvas cloth of the packs rustling, the metallic clicks and snaps of weaponry, the subdued – yet determined – voices of the twins came through as they prepared to leave.

Nevada released a silent, quivering breath. The room wavered, his chest tightened, a distant _tugging_ sensation settling deep within his gut. Standing suddenly, he fled the living room and stepped outside; missing the curious glance England sent him. Prussia sat on pile of chopped wood, a scrap metal barrier stood before him and stretched around the house. A tiny lantern sat beside the nation, glowing faintly in the gray sunlight of overcast skies.

"Switching or just getting fresh air?" Prussia asked, shooting a red eyed gaze to him. "My ass is numb and I've been out here for hours."

Nevada shook his head and sat down opposite of him. "Fresh air… it's pretty tense in there."

"Needed a break already?" Prussia eyes him critically. "Just how young are you anyway?"

"… One hundred forty-six."

Prussia shook his head, whistling lowly. "Shit- you're just a baby."

Nevada frowned, disliking the dismissive tone Prussia spoke in. "I can't listen to it – or _them_ – anymore. Hearing America and Canada on the radio… and knowing I can't do anything but sit here and… wait." Another wave of dizziness swept over him. Nevada closed his eyes, letting the feeling flow through him before it receded. Upon opening his eyes, he found Prussia peering at him with narrowed eyes.

"You feeling alright?" The nation asked. "You just got real pale."

Nevada bowed his head and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes from back home. Prussia's gaze widened slightly at the rare sight.

"I just need a cigarette." Nevada muttered truthfully, tugging out a cigarette and holding the box to Prussia. "Want one?"

Prussia stared at it for a long moment, his eyes wavering slightly as he thought of his younger brother and then lunged forward, taking the cigarette and peering at it. "These are handmade?"

"By my sister."

Nevada reached back into the pack for his lighter, shuffling through it for a moment before frowning. Picking the bag up and setting it in his lap, he rifled through the contents for a minute before Prussia interrupted his search.

"Just light it on the lantern. The metal frame is hot enough."

He paused in his search and sighed in disappointment. "I had kerosene lighter… I've had it for decades and…" His eyes widened. "Dad must have it. I bet it got mixed up…"

"Nothing you can do about it now." Prussia lifted the lantern by the metal handle and moved it closer to Nevada. "Here, go ahead."

Nevada nodded, agreeing with the elder nation sitting before him and pressed the end of his cigarette to the lantern, waiting a moment while the paper smoked and the edges flared to life. Bringing it back to his lips, he drew a few shallow breaths through the cigarette, allowing the smoking edge to glow and start burning the tobacco inside before dragging a deeper breath.

Prussia followed suite, but kept his gaze on the young state.

"You never answered my question."

Nevada sighed through his cigarette perched at the right corner of his mouth. _Guess there's no getting past him. I should've known I couldn't fool him… not with someone __**that**__ old._ He carefully extracted it from his lips, a slight frown marring his youthful face.

"You know about America's talent, right? The super strength?"

Prussia nodded once and silently waited for him to continue.

"He can only use it so much before he exhausts himself. If he's in a bad situation, he can _still_ use it… but he draws on the strength of his states." Nevada paused to take a long drag. "And he's doing it now-… well not right now but… you get what I mean."

"Will you be okay?" Prussia waved at him. "You won't pass out or anything? I can't leave my post to drag you inside."

"It's possible." Nevada felt a shudder run through him at the thought. "I'll go inside when I finish this. I just… needed a break. From… . Everything."

Prussia merely nodded in understanding and pressed the cigarette to his lips, resuming his watchful vigil. "When you go in have Denmark replace me. It's _his_ turn."

Nevada nodded, leaned back against the scrap metal fence and ignored the involuntary trembling, twitching of his muscles. He felt sick and weak from the energy America kept pulling away from him… and he _knew_ he didn't do it purposefully… he _knew_ America would only do that if he absolutely had to. Normally this would not have affected him so much. He would have simply gotten light headed-… but after the toll of the flash, and the invasion… if America kept tearing energy from him at this rate…

_I don't care what happens to me, Dad. I'm sure the others would say the same. Take as much as you need. We just want you to come back alive._

* * *

Vessel 22/Low Earth Orbit

Canada rushed ahead through the halls with America trailing behind. Lights flashed yellow in the dark halls, sirens and warnings blared through speakers implanted in the walls at predetermined intervals. Aliens rushed after them, angry and screeching, charging at them with weapons raised, infuriated at the human's successful attempt to bring down their crippled network.

Russia lay across America's shoulders, his body limp and unmoving, a dead weight. He clutched Russia's arm and leg, keeping him firmly positioned on his shoulder's while he shot Canada's rifle with the other. Germany's voice shouted into his ear, but America could hardly make it out over the cacophony of noise; it all seemed to blur together after a while, turning into a distant static hiss. His lungs burned, his legs and feet throbbed; he was slowing down. The adrenaline rush from earlier was gone and replaced with an exhaustive weariness, turning his muscles to mush.

A series of clicks filled the air all at once. The ceiling opened up, tiny metal spouts jutting down with a hiss of hydraulics. The sharp, punctuated alarm that repeated a single throbbing note every second grew louder as water gushed from the sprinklers and splashed down to the metal floor, where it drained through the floor to be recycled back into the system.

America, Russia and Canada were soaked through in seconds, their clothes sticking to them like a second skin as they ran through the torrential downpour.

"I'm running out of ammo!" America shouted at Canada. "How much further?"

The radio at America's ear suddenly shorted out, the casing allowing water into the battery operated electronics inside. A static hiss, then the sting of electricity jabbed at his ear while he tore the thing away, dropped it to the floor, and continued running down the hall after Canada, not missing a single beat.

"Hurry!" Canada shouted at him, his voice growing a sudden edge. "The emergency systems cutting us off!"

"Wha-?" America peered ahead and found a pressure door slowly closing, powered by a remote, gas-powered automatic release.

Canada sprinted ahead and grabbed the door, grabbing the edges and trying to force it from closing. America ran as fast as he could with Russia on his shoulders, shooting back at the aliens until the rifle finally clicked empty. Focusing his full attention on running, he let the rifle dangle by its strap from his arm while he reached up to steady Russia with two hands and quickened his pace, running faster and faster until he slid through the doorway. Canada let go and the door slammed shut with a metallic click. Another click sounded, followed by another, and another. America swallowed and gasped for air.

"Are we stuck in here?"

Water poured from the ceiling, soaking them through to the bone. America blinked and spat the nasty tasting water that spilled into his mouth onto the floor.

"This stuff isn't water." America admitted, making a sour face. "It's got some kind of chemical in it." He reached up and pushed his hair away from his face so it lay flat on his head. "Where to now?"

Canada listened to the radio at his ear, which he'd haphazardly covered up with the top to his canvas backpack. "Hang on-… okay let's keep going straight."

The twins started down the hall at a steady pace, both thankful for the break in running and shooting.

"Germany says that we have to open these doors in able to continue on." Canada stated, holding the canvas cloth to his ear in one hand, while the other still held the magnum. "He says that… if we cut the gas lines we should be able to open them-"

All flashing lights and sirens abruptly cut off, throwing the twins into darkness so thick it seemed as if it were a living, breathing thing.

His ears rang from the lack of sound. Small, tiny sounds became deafening in the intense silence; the twins labored breathing and the sound of water gushing from the sprinklers above and splashing down against the floor.

"Al?" Canada called, his hand suddenly hitting his arm and then fumbling to grasp it. "There you are."

"The power-… the ships batteries must have run dry." America's heart climbed into his throat as his old fear of the dark, which usually went hand in hand with his fear of ghosts, reared its ugly head. "I-… I think I might have a flash light-…" He slowly, carefully set Russia down onto the floor, making sure to keep his leg pressed against his side so he knew where he was at, and blindly felt through his pack.

"Ah-… yes. The power on the ship just went out." Canada's voice came nearby as he spoke into the headset. "No windows so we can't see anything. Al's trying to find a flash light."

"Where _is it_-… yes!" America pulled out the heavy flash light, ran his fingers up the length until he touched the rubber button, and flicked it. Pale, white light spilled across the hall and focused onto the opposite wall, where it reflected across the metal.

"Yeah, Al found a flash light." Canada relayed through the headset. "Let's go."

Relief seemed to fill Canada's face as he turned around, the magnum firmly clenched in his right hand, and started down the hall, turning a corner and disappearing from sight.

"Wait- I gotta get Ivan." America turned and picked Russia back up, laying him across his shoulder's once more, and started forward. "Alright, coming."

He held the flash light out before him and started walking, his feet landing on the metal floor softly, yet heavily. A splashing came from around the corner. America frowned and quickened his pace.

"I can't keep up with you running like that Matt." America turned the corner and shined the light down the hall. "Slow-… down?"

Canada was gone.

America grit his teeth and swallowed the lump of fear that wedged itself in his throat. "Matt? Where are you?"

Only the sound of water raining down onto the metal floor answered. America breathed, and stepped forward into the hall. He moved his flashlight across the walls, finding a couple of locked doors on either side.

"Matt where are you?" America paused, listening for any familiar sounds of his brother. "Matt!"

America swallowed again and stepped forward down the hall, but halted a second later to pull Russia from his shoulders and lay him on the floor. He set the empty rifle down beside Russia's comatose body and pulled out the pipe he took from a set of crutches.

"Can't hold you and find my brother at the same time…" America muttered as he turned back around and started down the hall, just missing Russia's hand tensing, his fingers slowly curling inward and it moved off his thigh and reach towards America's retreating form. "Matt!" America called again, alarm clearly filling his voice. "Where are you?"

_Did a pressure door close again?_ America thought, but quickly shot that idea down. _No… he would've shouted at me about it. Where the hell is he?_

Gripping the pipe in one hand and the flash light in the other, he moved down the hall and opened the doors one by one. A feeling of dread slowly filled him as he continued down the hall and found no signs of his brother.

_They're getting smarter… they're not just blinding chasing us anymore._ America kicked open another door and shined the flashlight through the frame to illuminate another empty room. _Somehow they got Matt without making a single fucking sound._ He clenched his teeth together and turned towards another door. _I can't freak out… I have to think about this._ He swallowed and forced himself to calm down. _Someone took him by surprise, and there wasn't any struggle or sound. It had to be fast and efficient. If they dropped anything then it's likely to have been washed away by the water… so… I'll just have to search these rooms._ He kicked open another door to find yet another empty room. _There has to be something more to this! Whoever did this obviously isn't the same as the mindless aliens that chased us. It's calmer, more patient…this had to have been planned… but it was done quickly, so there has to be mistakes somewhere…_

"Matt!" America called again while leaving the empty room. "Fuck…_fuck_-"

An alien suddenly appeared from around the corner of the door frame and slammed Canada's pipe across his face. It landed hard on his temple, blurring his vision as he collapsed to the floor. His own pipe and flashlight fell to the floor as he groaned and tried getting his limbs to function properly. A series of hissing grunts came, and the pipe landed hard on his head again. Tiny pinpricks of light filled his blackening vision. Something warm was pressed to the back of his neck, and suddenly his entire body went numb. America tried speaking, but only a low keening sound came. The alien picked up his flashlight and pipe, and then grasped America's ankles to drag him out of the room and up the hall.

Fear filled America's chest like a hot wave, and he tried moving his arms and legs, forcing his chest to expand and take in air, forcing his vocal chords to work, his tongue to form the words. Gibberish came, followed by more groaning that slowly grew more frantic and louder by the second. A doorway passed by, and suddenly Canada's wide-eyed face was staring into his own. A collar was tied to his neck, a hum of electricity coming from the metal pressed to his spinal cord. America's eyes widened, his mouth opened but only a gasping, keening sound came. Canada barely managed to nod his head, his eyes wide and angry.

The alien searched their packs out of their line of sight, its grunts and hissing heard just over their heads. Seconds passed before the packs were thrown to the ground in a fit of anger. It screeched and stepped around into their line of vision. A gasping croak erupted from Canada before recognition struck America.

_It's him. It's that fucking general who captured all three of us…_ America managed a growl and narrowed his eyes at him, trying to show his anger as well as he could. _That fucking-… how the hell did it plan this? Who the fuck is he?_

The alien hissed at them haughtily, a staccato series of croaks came from its puckered lips, sounding halfway between a laugh and a chain-smoker coughing. It pulled some objects from its belt: Canada's long hunting dagger, the magnum America gave to Russia, the TT30 Russia gave America. Trophies of its successful missions against them. Putting the guns away, he came close with Canada's knife.

"I… will not let you escape." The alien general hissed at them. "I work for years to capture you. I work… so that when **they** have their prize… then I shall be release from this _shell_." The alien slapped its hand on its chest. "And now… that I have come so far… you _humans_ do this!" It ended on an ear-shattering screech, furious anger clearly evident in its voice.

Other aliens filled the room, their forms rippling into view. America stared at them wide-eyed and shocked. Canada's uneven breathing and wide eyes clearly giving himself away.

The general held the knife before them, turning the sharp edge to Canada, then to America, a teasing back and forth motion.

"But now… you are done." The general's voice lowered in tone, sounded almost pleased. "The big one is drugged. You are _binded_." It pressed the knife to America's throat. Canada's wild-eyed stare met America's fearful gaze. "You two will die. And a new _one_ will be born from your blood and flesh."

_Can't move, can't move, oh god I can't fucking move!_

America stared into his twins face and vaguely heard the distant yelling voices in the tiny speaker at Canada's ear. It sounded desperate and angry all at once.

_This… is it? We came this far… we fought and ran and tried so hard… but now… but now…?_

America stared into his twin's wild gaze and felt a strange sense of calm flow through him. He wanted to hold his twin and comfort him. He wanted to feel that sense of warm security in his arms and press his face to his shoulder. He wanted England to yell at him again… to eat France's cooking again… to see all of his fellow nations and all of their vastly different personalities and strange quirks… he wanted the wide-eyed haunted look in Canada's eyes to go away, to tell him that "everything is going to be alright" because _I'm the hero_… just like old times.

But he couldn't tell him that. Nothing was _going to be alright_. They were going to bleed out on the floor and they finally reach that moment on the verge of death, _the place where you stand on the edge of a precipice, waiting for absolution to come… only to be yanked back into the land of the living once more_… but this time there would be no return. The pull of his people was too weak… too damaged to pull him back.

The knife pressed to America's throat.

A door slammed open. A screech of surprise filled the room. Aliens scrambled for their weapons as a tall, pale figure entered clutching the barrel-end of Canada's rifle. A look of pure disgust and rage filled his face, his eyes nearly luminescent in the darkness.

America gazed with fascinated horror. It was as if he were staring down the Russia from _not that long ago_ once more, _the Russia America knew was still there, somewhere, deep inside himself when his anger got the best of him during certain occasions_, holding that terrifying, fluidity of movement and the look that said "Don't test me. I know twenty different ways to kill you with the pen I hold in my hand, number one being the external carotid artery at your neck."

And suddenly America remembered that tiny, metal vat he'd found Russia in, and everything made sense once more.

_Russia…_

The aliens raised their weapons and aimed. Russia lifted the rifle and slammed it into one soldier's chest cavity, collapsing its ribs and snapping the rifle stock in half. Dropping the destroyed gun, he grabbed the dying alien before it collapsed to the ground and held it before him just as the aliens started firing. The body took each bullet with a sickening _squelch_ and _thunk_. Russia grabbed the dead aliens limp arm, raised the gun it held clutched and fired a quick burst. Aliens screeched, one fell to the floor, its head splayed open and gushing blood. The other two raised their rifles. Russia came at them in a lunge, not giving them the chance to fire in such close quarters, enclosed his fists on each head and slammed them both into the floor with a _crack_.

The General lunged forward at his hunched form, but Russia jumped away, expecting the attack. The two danced around each other, one lunging, the other dodging and biding his time until the general screeched in annoyance. Russia took the chance and dove in for the knife. The alien caught himself and slashed across Russia's chest, drawing blood. It hissed in victory, expecting Russia to fall away.

Only Russia did not fall away, as he simply ignored the pain and grabbed the general by the wrist, turned the knife around in its hand and plunged the blade deep into its chest. Once, twice, and then once more in the neck before throwing the knife away, enclosing one hand around its neck and the other on his jaw before snapping it with a _crack_ and dropping him to the floor.

Russia stood in the darkness and panted softly; the room just barely illuminated with America's flashlight.

The muscles of his throat worked, his eyes slowly refocused as he took in a deep, calming breath. He wavered on his feet suddenly, his eyes rolling up before he shook himself and pressed his hand to the nearest wall for support. Turning his gaze to the twins at the floor, he made his way towards them, all but collapsed by America and tore the metal bands away from their necks.

Feeling returned to America's limbs, and he sucked in a deep breath. Pain blossomed at his throat, and he pressed a hand to it. Blood dripped past his hand, sliding down his throat only to be washed away by the falling water.

"You're neck!" Canada came close and tore the edge of his shirt off. "We need to wrap it-"

"I will do it." Russia took the strips of cloth from Canada, who peered at him for a moment before nodding and moving away. "I am sure… the others on earth are worried. You should tell them what happened."

Canada's mouth dropped open. "But how did you know about that?"

America gazed at Russia in surprise. Russia merely shook his head.

"Not important."

He then turned his focus to America's neck and started prying his fingers from the cut.

"When did you wake up?" America relented and let Russia wrap his neck, growing relaxed at the familiar routine. "How long have you been awake?"

"I woke up when you left me to look for your brother." Russia explained in a muted voice. "I watched you leave… and heard you fall. But… I was well aware of what went on far beyond that."

America stared at him and lifted an eyebrow. "… Huh?"

"I had anesthesia awareness. I have been listening to everything that has been happening since they put me under."

* * *

_Next Chapter: The group arrives at the alien landing bay, where they prepare a powerless transport ship to escape and crash-land back on earth._

Extra Notes:

**Fireman's Carry** - [Wiki] "A fireman's carry or fireman's lift is one of the easiest techniques allowing one person to carry another person without assistance, by placing the carried person across the shoulders of the carrier.[1].The technique was commonly used by firefighters to carry injured or unconscious people away from danger, but has been replaced in firefighting due to the drawback that smoke and heat are greater higher up, and may be fatal to the person being "fireman's carry" technique is still taught for use outside of firefighting. Soldiers use this technique to carry wounded comrades [2]. Lifeguards are sometimes trained to use the fireman's carry (…) Carrying someone in this manner has several advantages over other methods of moving another person. The subject's torso is fairly level, which helps prevent further injuries. When the subject's weight is evenly distributed over both shoulders, it is easier to carry them for a longer distance (50 feet or more)."


	24. Chapter 24

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & mature themes.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

**Note: **By far, the hardest chapter to write in the entire story, bar none. D: Please Forgive me for my long absence. Also, more amazing readers drew fanart for this story! (I can't believe they liked it enough to draw fanart for this!) I posted the links in my profile, please go check them out! (Also, this is partially unbeta'd)

* * *

"…Everything?" America gaped at Russia, his lips parting in surprise. "You've heard _everything_?"

Russia only peered at him in silence, amusement slowly filling his eyes.

_Then…earlier…_ America narrowed his eyes and flushed. _I can't believe this. He heard everything I said?_

"Yes, we're all okay." Canada spoke into the headset and told them of their current location. "Where do we go from here?"

_Worry about this later._ America pushed the revelation to the back of his mind and stood. _Gotta focus on getting out of here-_

A gagging, choked sound came from the alien general. Russia stood and crossed the room where the alien lay, bleeding out of the three stab wounds on his chest and neck. America followed and stood beside him. The general lay sprawled on the floor, his body barely visible in the low light, the blood slowly washing away from the falling water of the overhead sprinklers.

"You…won't escape." The general wheezed wetly. "Our sovereign will find you… and defeat you."

"You're _sovereign_?" America couldn't help the disgusted tone that crept into his voice. "You're one true royal _leader_?"

Russia only glared at him and reached for the knife he flung to the floor earlier.

"He…is like you." A cough erupted; the general spat a mouthful of a blood away. "He led us to greatness… to survive when our planet died… he will defeat you."

"A nation." America breathed. "Their original nation… survived?"

"But he took control of them." Russia spat, his voice low with anger. "He was both their nation _and_ their leader. His people **all** _knew_ it."

Canada stepped closer to his brother, a small gasp escaping. "That's forbidden."

America gaped in surprise. _He told his people who he was…and used his status as a nation to take control of them?_

"Durák…" Russia muttered, a stony anger settling over his face. "You're _sovereign_ is **weak**. He broke the one law we must always follow… because he _feared_ his death."*

"No-" The general cut himself off with a wet wheeze. More blood spilled from his mouth to trickle down his chin and neck.

"He _molded_ his people to better **himself**." Russia lowered into a crouch and held the knife at the general's throat. "He did not follow his flock… he did not follow his leader."

"Never…" The general shook his head. "Never- I only believe him. My nation. He is coming for you… coming…to kill you all."

"He will not rely on his bombs?" Russia pressed the knife to the general's neck. "The one's you _hoped_ would kill us all?"

Canada stood opposite of Russia, glowering at the general lying bleeding at his feet. America stood directly beside him, mirroring his twin until he sucked in a breath through his nostrils, surged forward and pressed his foot to the general's chest.

"Where is your nation hiding?"

"He is…here. Waiting for…you."

America's determination faltered, his leg slide off the alien's chest.

"We will see." Russia bent over, leaning in close to the general's face. "Do you think I have forgotten what you did?"

The general peered at him for a long moment before his eyes widened in realization. Russia kept his _mask_ firmly in place, his eyes shining like icicles in the sunrise.

"I should _flay you alive_ for using the image of one of my past royalty. For using _her_ image… did you think I am _so weak_ as to be emotionally crippled by the princess I _helped_ kill? I am a **nation**, as are those twins. You cannot hope to imagine the horrors we have committed for the interests of _our people_." Russia slid the dagger up his neck and over his jaw, slicing a neat, thin line into the skin. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper so the North American twins couldn't hear. "But… You are **lucky** _they_ are here, as your suffering gets to be quick."

Russia raised the dagger and slammed it down, cutting the general's head clean off. He stood after moment of blandly observing the body's deathly quivers, cleaned the dagger and returned it to Canada, who sheathed it in his makeshift belt. America peered at Russia for a moment before shaking his head, deciding it to be best to ignore what just happened.

Canada paused a moment, listening to the chatter in his ear before turning to America and Russia, who were currently picked up their weapons and bags.

"Grab whatever you can, we have to hurry."

* * *

Canada shined the light ahead, illuminating the endless hall as water rained down from the metal sprinkler heads above. America followed next, carrying both his and Canada's bags, with Russia backing them up.

"Which way?" Canada spoke into the headset before turning right and jogging –running through the pooling water on the metal floors was avoided, lest someone slip and crack their head open- down the hall. "How much further? We don't have much time left-"

A door behind them, off in one of the distant halls, exploded off its hinges, sounds of twisting metal echoing across the metal walls. Alien screeches echoed against the raining water, splashing water signaling their presence. Canada quickened his pace, jogging just under a run, and moved ahead, pulling the magnum from his holster. Russia darted glances behind them and clenched a pipe in each fist. Another hallway opened up, Canada turned into it, and America and Russia followed.

"There- up ahead!" America exclaimed, pointing at the light spilling into the hall from the huge shipping bay beyond. "The door's closing!"

Canada grabbed America's arm and jerked him forward. "Stop it, hurry!"

America surged forward, nearly slipping in the pooling water before slamming into the wall. Launching himself forward once more, he grabbed the edge of the door with a grunt, braced himself against the wall and stopped the door from closing. An inch of space stood between the door and the frame.

"Open it!" Canada ordered, pulling out the magnum and aiming down the hall. "They're coming!"

America sucked in a hissing breath through clenched teeth. His arms trembled from the exertion, the gears of the pressurized door still pushing against him.

"M'tryin-" The door pushed forward a fraction of an inch; America braced his feet against the wall and using his legs for additional strength, pushed against the door. "_Damnit_-"

Aliens poured into the hall without warning. Canada fired into them, empting the revolver before stepping back to reload. Russia swung his pipes with deadly accuracy, cracking heads open and sending aliens flying to the floor with a single hit. Once Canada reloaded the revolver, he shouted at Russia and fired into the crowd again. Russia sidestepped and pressed himself to the wall before Canada emptied the magnum once more.

America grunted, his muscles already taxed and tired from using his super-strength repeatedly at such short intervals, and strained his body against the automatic, pressurized airlock door. Moving his shoulder against the door, he slowly turned his body around so instead of facing the door, he now braced his back against it. Lowering his hands to steady himself, he pressed his feet to the wall and used his entire body to slowly push the door open. The gears whined and hissed, straining under the heavy load.

"There- hurry!" America shouted, his voice strained.

Canada lifted the revolver and started firing into the crowd of aliens once more. Russia took advantage of the free moment to rush to the door, crouching under America and entering the massive ship's bay. Canada slowly backed away before running back and sliding under America, who held the door open a second longer before jumping away. The door slammed shut with a metallic, piercing explosion of sound. Silence fell upon the three of them, save for their heavy breathing and water dripping from their clothes.

Static voices came through Canada's headset.

"We're okay, we made it." He slowly stood to his feet and looked around. "Oh…my…"

A huge room, large enough to stack jet liner in pairs of three, both by height and length, surrounded them. Ships of a varying degree of repair stood at either end of the room. Workstations, computers long grown dark, tools and barrels of fuel lay scattered. The walls were all made of metal and peeling paint, save for the far wall, which was made entirely of glass. Light poured in from the earth, illuminating the room in a soft, blue-white glow. Russia stood as well and surveyed the room in silent awe of the alien engineering for a moment, before focusing on the ships.

"Find one that is not taken apart." Russia started forward down the massive ship's bay. "From there we will see if the basic elements of flight work without power."

America rolled over from his position on the floor and slowly brought himself up to his hands and knees. A trembling shiver took hold of his muscles; a wave of dizziness filled him. He quickly closed his eyes and willed the feeling away.

_Stop it. I can't let this get to me now. I can't sleep now!_ He shook his head and blinked once, twice, before lifting his right hand to rub at his eyes. _Gotta keep going… they may still need my strength…I can't stop now._

America leaned back, pressed a hand to his knee and pushed himself up to his feet. He wavered a moment before balancing himself on the pads of his feet. The dizziness returned, this time in stomach churning waves.

_Don't. Stop it._ America stumbled to a nearby workstation and pressed his right hand against it for support. _Don't give up on me now, states… I need just a little more._

Sucking in a deep, composing breath, America swallowed the lump back down his throat and pulled away from the desk, where he found Canada glaring at him. America sent him a bland "I-wasn't-doing-anything" stare and refocused on the bay at large, ignoring the holes Canada was glaring into the back of his head.

"I found something!" Russia shouted from across the bay.

The twins came to him and stared at the large ship. It was long and bulky, seeming used for cargo transport.

"The outside is not taken apart, like the others." He pointed to the wings, then to the heavily armored shell surrounding it. "It looks designed for rugged, long term usage. The thick armor will protect us if we cannot slow down after reentry."

_Reentry._ America felt the blood drain from his face. _We're going to reenter the atmosphere without any navigational computers, parachutes…_

"If it doesn't have parachutes, then it must have drag fins, flaps, _something_ to slow it down." America insisted, ignoring the cold weight of fear wedging itself inside his chest. "The ship may survive the landing, but we won't. We'll be like raw eggs thrown at a brick wall on impact."

Canada swallowed audibly and rocked back onto his heels. Russia gazed at the ship, running a critical eye over it.

"True, but the others are taken apart." Russia stepped forward to the hatch on the under belly. "This ship is out only option-"

The hatch exploded open, knocking Russia in the chest and throwing him to the floor, sending the pipes he held clattering to the ground. America rushed forward, ignoring the sudden surge of dizziness, and grabbed one of the pipes Russia dropped and stood beside him. Russia gasped and breathed, the breath knocked out of him momentarily before he lunged for the other pipe and scrambled to his feet.

A tall, humanoid –like creature stepped through the hatch. Its skin was a creamy pink, akin to that of a newborn babe, but its texture was rough and weathered. It was tall, its torso thin and contoured, its legs and arms all longer than a humans. A thick, tapering tail trailed behind it. Its face was human shaped, save for severe cheekbones, cat-like nose, pointed ears and golden reptilian eyes. America and Russia backed away in surprise, silence falling over them as they stared at the alien creature.

It lifted its right hand, clenching an old long-sword. "I've been waiting for you."

"Who are you?" America blurted, confusion filling him. "You look nothing like the others."

Russia held his tongue and merely stared at the thing.

"Didn't the general tell you?" It stepped closer. America and Russia stepped away. "Didn't he tell you about me?"

"You're their nation." Realization struck America squarely in the chest. "But… you look nothing like them."

"You will not leave." The alien nation declared, pointing the sword at them. "I won't let you."

"Is that so?" Russia questioned in a low voice.

"I am older than both of you...you will not win." The alien was calm and confident, save for an angry tension residing just beneath its calm demeanor.

_He has a sword…we only have these pipes._ America glared at him. _If he's telling the truth…then we might not be able to beat him._ America stole a glance around the room and found Canada nowhere in sight. _Matt must've gone invisible the moment the hatch opened. Until he reveals himself, I'll have to keep him talking… otherwise he might attack…_

"Why don't you look like them?" America demanded.

The alien remained silent for a second before turning to him, an angry glint in its golden eyes. "Because this is not my original body." The alien stepped closer, America and Russia backed away. "I stole it."

"Stole it?" America questioned. "But…how-?"

"My old body was rotting away, just as vehicle wears away from the passage of time." The alien touched its chest. "I no longer had my planet to keep my youthful appearance, only my immortal soul of the people. To preserve myself, I stole a body and made it my own. When that body started decaying, I took another…and another…."

It pulled away the fabric covering its torso. The pink skin was dark, old, un-healing wounds festering and rotting. America couldn't help the physical recoil as the stench hit his nostrils.

"This body is beginning to decay, and I am in need of a new one." The alien glared at America, before turning to Russia. "That is why you cannot leave."

Russia stared in shock, his violet eyes wide.

America seethed in anger.

"That's why you were capturing nations?" He shouted, blue eyes glittering with fury. "So you could find one you liked and take it for yourself?"

"Yes." The alien nation answered simply. "I told my general I wanted a new body, so he started capturing them."

"Selfish _fucker_- you break the law of keeping yourself separate from leadership, and then you steal other nations bodies because your own is _rotting_ away?"

America clenched the pipe, the metal slowly giving way under his strength.

"You know _nothing_ of what I had to go through!" The alien finally shouted, its anger getting the better of him. "My planet destroyed, my people nearly wiped out of existence! I _fought_ for survival-!"

"By taking other nations bodies!" America accused, shouting back at him. "By destroying entire planets and taking their resources for your own selfishness!"

"Yes. I did." The alien nation admitted. "And I would do it again! You think I care for such things?" He sucked in a breath, trying to compose himself. "I wanted a new body, and you –" He pointed to America. "And your northern twin were to be my new body. The Russian was to be a new sub-nation under me, so when that body rotted away, he would be my next-" He blinked and peered around the room, his eyes growing wide with angry confusion. "Where is he?"

_Fuck, he figured it out._

"Where is he!" The alien shouted suddenly, his anger filling him once more.

"Who?" America asked, making his face blank.

"The northern one. The other twin!"

"He is not here." Russia added, finally figuring out America's plan to keep the alien talking. "Didn't you know that?"

"I _saw_ him!" The alien seethed and raised his sword. "Where is he!"

Before America or Russia could answer, the alien lunged forward and swung his sword at them. America and Russia both dodged away in opposite directions. The alien, infuriated with America, lashed out at him, swinging his sword in a wide arch. America jumped away, the sword nicking his arm. Russia swung his pipe at the thing's unprotected back, landing a solid hit. The alien gasped, falling forward but catching its balance with his tail by swinging it upward. Snarling, the alien flung the edge of his tail at Russia, who nimbly stepped away. America swung his pipe at the alien's chest, only to have it land on the alien's raised sword. A metallic _clang_ pierced the air; America jumped back once, twice at the aliens stabbing attacks.

The ground suddenly lurched upward, a violent tremble followed. The back wall cracked, the metal seams splitting and belching out explosions of fire and smoke. The room lurched sideways, sending them all to the floor.

The alien gagged, and coughed up a mouthful of pinkish-red blood. A yelling shout erupted from its throat as he forced himself to his feet and lifted his sword.

"Damn you…_damn you_ for doing this to me!"

He took a huge step forward and raised the sword. America scrambled backwards and reached for the pipe.

Orange light exploded into the room from the huge glass wall behind America. The alien stood, its eyes widening in shock. Russia slowly raised himself to his feet, the orange glow reflecting off his violet pools. America glanced at the sword the alien held before stealing a glance back.

The alien ships all orbiting earth before them broke apart in a vision of shattered metal and liquid fire, burning the gasses away before asphyxiating in the vacuum of space. The ships that didn't explode were soon broken apart by flying debris as large as skyscrapers. The ship closest to them, the one Canada and America had been on, broke in half from a massive rocket booster smashing into its side. One entire half of the ship slowly came at them.

"No…no-no-no…" The alien hacked up a mouthful of blood, cuts and lacerations splitting open across his body. "Damn you…_damn you_! This is all your fault-!"

"**Wrong**." Canada reappeared directly beside the alien, arm outstretched, and magnum barrel digging into the alien's temple. "It's Tony's fault." He pulled the trigger.

An explosion of sound erupted, the aliens head opened up, spraying flesh and blood to the floor. The alien nation collapsed in a heap, its body twitching ever so slightly.

America stared at the nation for a moment, gaping in surprise before turning to Canada. Canada shook with anger, eyes burning. Taking a deep breath, he composed himself, holstered the gun, and stretched his hand down to America, who took it with a questioning, curious stare.

"Let's go home."

* * *

Northern Germany

A cacophony of shouting filled the living room, Germany's voice prevailing over all others. France poured over the maps with Belgium and Denmark, all three arguing over the best route to take before France relayed the route to Germany. England sat in a thick, plush armchair, crouched over and pressing his entire right hand to his throbbing temple.

The front door suddenly exploded inward as Prussia emerged in the doorway.

"England, come here!"

The island nation frowned. "What is it?"

"That kid passed out, fainted or something. You need to come and get him, I'm on watch."

"What?" England stood, ignoring the soreness of his muscles, and followed Prussia outside. "He just collapsed?"

"One minute he was sitting, the next he was laying here." Prussia explained in short, curt tones. "I was paying attention to the perimeter, _not_ on him."

England crouched in the snow and looked the young state over. A pale pallor touched his sun-kissed skin, frosted blue settling in around his lips and closed eyelids.

"Just how long has he been lying here?" England reeled on Prussia, his tone accusing.

Despite his obvious misgivings with America and his states, the young nation once been a part of his past empire, and he couldn't help but feel a nostalgic pang of worry.

"Thirty seconds maybe? How the hell am I supposed to know?" Prussia shot back. "I didn't ignore him, if that's what you're accusing me of."

"Right- fine." England lifted the boy up and slung him over one shoulder. "At least you're lighter than America…"

He carried him inside, shutting the door with his foot and brought the state to the fire, gently laying him down on the hardwood flooring. Reaching for a cotton blanket, England pulled it over the state and checked his vitals.

"You're drawing from them, aren't you America?" England questioned, his voice soft and barely audible in the shouting match France, Belgium, Denmark and Germany were waging. "Remember what I taught you…if you draw too much…"

England frowned and crossed his legs, letting the warmth of the fire fill him.

"You might kill yourself."

* * *

Low Earth Orbit/Vessel 22 Ship's Bay

Gaseous plumes of fire exploded from the back wall, sending pieces of torn metal clattering to the floor. Heated air filled the once frigid bay, turning the room into a giant oven.

The three rushed to the large cargo aircraft and entered through the hatch on its underbelly. The inside was spacious with four small seats positioned at the front of the circular cockpit. The glass windshield was curved and thick, the glass clear and allowing good visibility. A vast, electronic panel of buttons and gauges sat just under the windshield and was tilted downward to the pilot's seat. Mechanical gauges covered the electric panel and the manual flight stick protruded from the floor.

Canada rushed to the pilot's chair and gauges. "The mechanical ones seem to be working…too bad we can't read them." He took hold of the flight control stick. "America, go outside and tell me if this works."

America nodded once and fled outside, where he watched the wing and tail of the aircraft.

Pushing the stick forward, Canada struggled against the heavy weight and rigidity of the controls. Russia came over and helped him move it back and forth, up and down.

"It has manual controls, but it was not designed for them." Russia frowned. "America will have to-"

"No." Canada interrupted from. "He can't use anymore of his strength."

"…Why?"

"He's used it a _lot_ in the past hour or so…since we escaped." Canada explained in short, quick tones. "He's pulling _it_ from his states now... you know what happens if they can't give anymore."

Russia nodded. "Then I will pilot this. You and Alfred will have to raise the drag flaps, and lift the landing gear."

Canada nodded and ducked outside. America came over to him.

"Everything seems to be working. How's it inside?"

"It's working just fine. Russia will be the pilot, while you and I will lift the drag flaps and raise the landing gear…if we do a water landing."

"Right." America glanced to the huge glass wall. "That has to be some thick stuff. Probably reinforced and won't shatter. We'll have to find some explosives to get through."

"What about those fuel canisters-?"

The room jerked up once, then back down as two explosions rocketed the ship. The plumes of fire on the back wall grew exponentially, consuming the oxygen in the room.

"Get in!" Russia shouted at them. "The ship breaking apart!"

Metallic cracks and the roar of flames filled the room. The twins ran back to the ship just as the artificial gravity failed. The fire, once grounded and limited to its entry point suddenly changed, becoming similar to a liquid that caressed the ceiling. America and Canada lost their footing and crashed into the ship. Both clinging to the side, they pulled themselves down and up through the hatch. Russia quickly slammed it shut, securing it with an airtight seal before pushing himself back to the pilots seat.

"Get in the seats." Russia ordered while staring at the strange, alien controls. "I need the headset."

"What are we going to do about the drag fins? Or the landing gear?" America gasped in a rush as Russia strapped himself into the small seat. "If we can't slow down after re-entry…"

Canada peeled the headset away, looking more than happy to relinquish it. "Tony should be listening in if you need to ask him anything."

"The manual controls for them are not up here at the front of the cockpit." Russia hooked the speaker to his ear before curling the wired microphone down his strong jaw to his mouth. "Check in the rear- yes, this is Russia speaking. Explain the alien's numerical system so I may properly fly this."

The ship shook and trembled, shockwaves slamming into the hull from the multiple explosions. The ships bay beyond the thick glass windshield filled with flames, igniting the fuel canisters and causing multiple bone shattering detonations. America stumbled to the rear of the ship, feeling along the walls for any openings. Canada covered the opposite wall, running his hands along until he caught the edge of a panel and pulled it open. A series of heavy, arm-length switches sprang out from the opening.

"I think these control the drag fins." Canada grabbed one and with a might tug, yanked it upward with a metallic _clang_.

Russia leaned forward and looked back through the glass at the ship. "Ah- yes! That was one of them. Go head and put it back."

Canada did so just as America found the panel on the opposite wall. He plucked it away and peered at it for a second before stumbling back to his seat.

"Secure yourselves to the chairs; the bay is beginning to collapse." Russia ordered, his voice eerily calm and firmly in control. He returned to speaking with Germany in his natural language, going over the controls and their markings, repeating himself and nodding before moving on.

The twins made their way back and sat in the two chairs behind Russia, finding the straps and buckling themselves in as best as they could in the tiny seats.

"Hey- look!" Canada pointed to the massive glass wall beyond the windshield.

A circular ripple started across the glass wall, warping from the intense heat before cracking under pressure. Super-heated air pushed at the crack before the entire wall broke apart like a shattered mirror. Explosive decompression followed - fire, gases, objects of all shapes and sizes flew from the huge opening like a bullet from a gun. The ship trembled, the air and fire roaring beyond the hull before the silence of vacuum set in. The once massive alien fleet was in pieces. Huge chunks of ships crashed into others, breaking them apart into small pieces. Tiny pieces of debris pinged at the glass windshield and hull, a dull barely audible sound emitting from each strike.

_Please… oh please god don't let us smash into anything._ America clenched the armrests of the chair with white knuckles. _Just let us float by…please-please-please…_

A chunk of a former hallway crashed into the roof. Their former trajectory, a deep straight shot for earth – formerly in a steep patch towards the North Pacific, bordering the arctic circle – jerked them away and down slightly, angling their re-entry to cross over Canada, making their angle far more shallow.

The muscles of Russia's back tightened at the sudden change. Canada frowned deeply, while America leaned forward with a curse.

"Shit- we need a water landing if we want to survive this." America slammed a fist to the arm of his chair in frustration and glanced to his twin. "I mean- maybe we could try for the Great Lakes, but-"*

"Not at this angle of descent." Russia interrupted, his eyes glued to the gauges. "Too far north."

"He's right." Canada admitted with a curious, albeit worried frown. "Besides, look at how fast we're going. We would over shoot it completely."

"Oh- yeah." America shook his head softly, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them. "Right…I know."

_Stop it. __**Stop it**__. You have to stay awake during the re-entry. _

He glanced back to the glass windshield and found the Earth looming hugely before them.

"We will aim for the Atlantic Ocean." Russia touched the compass as it slowly caught the edges of earth's magnetic field.

"The Atlantic Ocean?" America swallowed the lump of nervous fear back down his throat. "I really hope that's near a _coastline_-"

"At our current velocity, we may reach the east Atlantic." Russia leaned back and gripped the flight stick as a violent shaking motion took hold of the ship. Reaching for the headset, he pressed the microphone closer to his mouth. "Beginning descent. Continue tracking and communication with Tony." He then pushed the microphone away, tore the headset off and dropped it to the floor.

America stared at the earth, at the Eastern coastline of Russia, the frigid North Atlantic, the western shores of Alaska and Canada as the G-forces slowly rose and pressed into his chest with rapidly increasing weight. Super-heated air slammed into the nose of the ship; flames appeared, first licking across before covering the entire clear shield. Heat emanated from the hull, filling the cargo spaces below and the cockpit. Frozen condensation gathered from the frigid alien ship liquefied and turned to vapor in seconds, turning the inside of the ship into a sauna. The entire ship shook and trembled from the violent reentry, groaning under the distress and super-heated temperatures melting the heat shield away. It seemed to go on forever, the seconds stretching into minutes, minutes stretching into hours. The constant shaking and trembling that went through the skin, the muscles to the bones, rattling everything within. The peak came, and the massive weight on his chest lessoned, the trembling of the ship dying away.

America gasped and forced his eyes open. Russia stood hunched over the controls, clenching the flight stick with an iron grip and attempting to use what little air they had at such high elevation to carry them.

"We crossed the Ottowa-…" Canada gasped and pressed a hand to his chest. "We need to slow down-"

"Fuck- we're that far already?" Blinking the sweat from his eyes, America tore the belts away and forced himself out of it, where he promptly collapsed to the floor from the steep angle and violent trembling of the ship. "Damnit-!"

Crawling on his hands and knees, he inched his way up the cockpit to the rear of the ship. Clinging to metal edges and handles, he pulled himself up and braced himself against a doorway that separated the rear of the ship from the cockpit. Jerking a hand out, he grabbed at one of the huge metal switches, then grabbed another and pulled himself to a standing position where he tried switching them up. They didn't budge.

"The hell?" America growled, sucked in a deep breath and went to push up when Canada tore the belts off himself and crumpled to the floor. "What are you doing?" America shouted at him before giving into his worry, relinquishing one hand of the switch and reaching down to grab Canada and yank him to his side.

"Hurry!" Russia snarled at the twins from the front. "Get those drag fins up _now_!"

Canada gasped, sweat dripping from his brow and sliding down either side of his face, and clenched the switches America was holding. The two looked at each other, eyes locking, a mutual understanding coming between them. Together they heaved and the switches snapped up. A low-pitched cry erupted from outside the hull. The twins waited, both staring at Russia as he peered at the controls.

"Another!" He ordered, his accent growing thick from the stress of the moment. "Not enough!"

America stepped back to the next set of switches. Canada followed; both clenched each switch, and after a second of strain, snapped them up in the locked position.

"…Good!" Russia shouted over the roar of the wind outside the ship. "Stay there- crossing Atlantic now! Start looking for the landing gear controls!"

Canada released a shaky breath and relaxed as the ship's angle evened out, the speed slowing to that of a jetliner. America blinked, fighting wave after wave of dizzy nausea as he turned his eyes over the rear of the ship.

"Okay…okay." America sucked in a deep breath and raked a trembling hand through his hair. "Um-…so. If these drag fins have the controls here for the roof… then maybe the controls for the landing gear are below?"

Canada mulled it over for a moment before nodding in agreement. Moving to the far back, America gripped the hatch that led to the cargo area, unlocked it, and jerked it open. A blast of hot air slammed into their faces. Canada recoiled; America breathed it in and surged forward into the lower compartment, relishing the hot air after dealing with the frigid temperatures of the alien fleet. The warm metal floor stuck to his feet, drying the water vapor that clung to them before drying the skin out. Canada followed, making a sour face at the feel of the floor.

"Okay, look around." Canada started, surveying the room. "Maybe a crank or pulley system?"

"Probably…" America darted around the cargo area, running his hands over the warm metal walls. "Maybe- wait! Here, in the floor!"

America stepped away, and kicked his foot to the floor. "Feel that? I think this opens up and they fold up in here!"

Canada rushed to the wall adjacent to where America stood and pried off a square metal cover. A huge hand crank stood welded into the wall.

"Check the other side!" He ordered and grasping the handle. "It must be synchronized!"

"Six thousand and dropping!" Russia shouted from the cockpit. "Hurry!"

America sprinted to the wall and tore the metal cover off, revealing another crank. "Ready? On three! One-two-three!"

The twins turned the cranks at the exact same time; two small doors opened up on the floor, letting in fresh cool air and giving them a startling close look at the turbulent eastern Atlantic Ocean below. The two turned the cranks with both hands as the back half of the landing gear slowly raised itself upward, inching their way up at a snail's pace.

"Five thousand!" Russia shouted again.

"Faster Matt- we have to go faster!"

Canada quickened his pace to match America's, both gasping as the muscles of their arms burned and ached at the physical exertion. Seconds crawled by, the landing gear inched its way up until they were finally inside the cargo ship. A faint click came, and the doors snapped shut.

"Yes!" America exclaimed and rushed for the front. "We have to get this one at the nose-"

"Three thousand!" Russia shouted once more, and after a second added: "We are falling like a rock! This thing wasn't made to fly by air pressure alone!"

America shot a wide-eyed glance to Canada before scrambling to the front nose section. Tearing the metal box away, he grabbed the handle of the crank and tried turning it. Nothing moved. He tried again and again, cursing in frustration before leaning in close. The turning mechanism was half melted.

"Oh fuck."

"What- what is it?" Canada ran to him. "What's wrong?"

"It's fucking _melted_!" America growled, dropping to his knees to try and pry the doors open by hand. "The re-entry welded the thing together!"

"Oh..." Canada repeated as eloquently as his twin and also dropped to his knees to help. "…Fuck."

The two slowly pried the heavy doors open, pushing them up and away. The long, massive single landing gear hung from the bottom of the hull. The twins stared at it, dumbfounded for a long moment before America started nodding slowly.

"Okay…right." He stared at his twin. "I'm going to drop down and pull it up by hand. You keep me from falling."

"What?" Canada exclaimed suddenly. "But-…you…" He hesitated, remembering the strong negative reaction his brother had from using his strength. "...If you use anymore you might-"

"I know." America pressed his hands to his knees, his face tightening in grim determination. "But…I don't really have a choice. _We_ don't have a choice." America quirked a smile at him. "I mean-…it's not like you could lift it…and Ivan's busy keeping the plane in the air…"

"I know." Canada grumbled with a sigh. "I know…"

America reached across and pressed a reassuring hand to Canada's shoulder. "I'll be careful."

"…Fine. Alright."

America grinned and bent over, slithering his way through the opening. He felt Canada's legs sitting on his knees; his hands gripped his hips like a vice. Blood rushing to his head, America focused on the landing gear and tried to ignore how the ocean's surface was steadily growing closer, how he could nearly make out how big or small the waves were, how he could see a sliver of Western Europe off in the distance. The landing gear was short compared to the back two, but the metal was heavy and dense, the wheel made of the same material. Reaching for it, he clamped his hands around it and tried lifting it up by arm strength along.

It barely moved a fraction of an inch.

Cursing to himself once more, he tilted his head up to Canada. "I can't pull it up with my arms- I'm gonna have to use my legs and back!"

"Go ahead!"

America maneuvered himself so his knees had better purchase on the metal floor above. Clutching the landing gear once more, he sucked in a breath and pulled at the gear. Grunting, his face turning beet red, he heaved the landing gear up inch by inch. Canada helped by slowly pulled up back up and into the cargo area, using his hips as handlebars, until the gear finally came inside. Holding it up, Canada scrambled forward and slammed the doors shut. America released the gear with a gasping breath and collapsed to the floor.

Darkness hovered at the edges of his vision, white spots of light dances around the room as he breathed and forced himself to remain conscious.

Canada came to him, helping America back up to his feet and half carrying him back to the opening. America struggled through the hatch, barely having the strength left to lift himself upward. Canada shoved him up through the hole and followed, slamming the hatch shut and locking it.

"Landing gear's up!" He exclaimed before gasping at the sight through the windshield. The ocean looked close enough to hang-glide off the ship and not fear of the landing. Russia half stood, half sat, one of his feet was pressed into the massive front dashboard of controls, his arms shaking from keeping the heavy plane in the air.

"Get in your seats. I'm doing a water landing." Russia snapped, his English barely understandable.

Canada turned back to America, who was struggling with the mere act of sitting up from the floor. "Here- come on."

Looping an arm under his twin's armpits, he hefted him up and dragged him to his seat, where America all but collapsed into with a gasping huff. Canada strapped him in, and then moved to sit in his own seat, strapping himself in.

Russia released a breath through gritted teeth as he slowly lowered the nose of the space ship. The rocky, white sandy coastline of Spain loomed in the distance, the ocean growing closer and clearer by the second.

"тихо…" Russia whispered, struggling to keep the space ship even and level. "тихо…"

Sunlight reflected off the ocean surface and into the cockpit. America clenched the arms of the chair and sat in nervous tension when the ship suddenly touched the water below, slicing through the surface, sending massive plumes of white water out behind it. Ocean water crashed up onto the nose, washed over the windshield. The sudden halting of movement sent the nations sprawling forward, America and Canada to the floor, Russia crashing into the electronic dashboard.

A moment of revered silence passed before America broke it with a whoop of joy. America gasped and tried to pull himself up to his feel, failing miserably in the process.

"Fuck yes we did it!"

* * *

Eastern Atlantic/Five Leagues off the coast of Spain

Relief.

Pure, joyous relief. It filled America to the brim, soaking into the marrow of his bones, to the exhausted muscles, to his stomach, his chest, and finally to his mouth. It spilled from his lips in breathless laughter, filling the room. Canada joined in the laughter, chest heaving great gasps of air. Russia allowed a genuine smile to stretch across his face. Long moments of silence passed, where the nations simply breathed and stared at the ceiling, taking it all in.

Russia finally staggered to his feet.

"We must get to the roof." He straightened the bandaged wrapped around his neck self-consciously. "If there is any chance of someone rescuing us."

Canada followed suit. "We're near the coast of Spain…right?"

"Yes." Russia stepped over to America and reached out a hand. "Let's go."

America peered at the offered hand, exhaustion slowly take the place of relief. A tiny smile grew on his face and he took the hand, letting Russia pull him up. America's legs buckled and Russia caught him, threading an arm around his back and under his armpits. America's face burned with shame, not wanting to appear weak in front of him. Russia said nothing and helped him move to the back of the ship.

Canada knelt over the hatch, struggling with the circular handle. A heavy _thud_ came, and the wheel turned until it clicked open. Canada lifted it upward and set it down against the floor. The cold, salty air of the ocean flowed from the opening.

"We'll have to swim." Canada glanced to America, and then slid his eyes to Russia. "Seems the doors to the landing gear were blasted off on landing."

"I can handle it." America snapped, not liking all the worried glances at him. "I'm not unconscious yet."

Turning away, Canada slid his feet through the hole and jumped down, landing with a _thud_ below. Russia moved closer, and helped America through first before following. Reaching up, he pulled the hatch closed and locked it.

"That will keep the cockpit from flooding, and will help us remain afloat."

Canada shuffled through the water, coming to a large hole in the bottom. The ocean water was only a few degrees above freezing, leaving America to shiver as his feet turned numb.

"Through here." Canada glanced back to his twin again, and then turned back to Russia. "Will you-"

"I will. Go ahead."

Nodding shortly, Canada slid through the hole, sinking underwater and swimming away to the surface. America frowned and silently wished it were summer.

_I hate the cold…I hate getting into cold water… I'd give anything for my hot and humid southern summers-_

Russia's face suddenly entered his vision, coming closer and closer until their lips pressed together in a chaste kiss. America stood rigid with surprise, his eyes widening with each passing second until they parted. Russia pressed his forehead to America's and wrapped his arms around him, keeping America from collapsing. A moment of silence passed as the two stood in the cold ocean water.

Russia let his head fall to America's shoulder.

"Uh…um…" America clung to Russia as a wave of light headedness flowed through him. "Ivan-?"

"Thank you."

America stared at Russia's neck and shoulder and raised one eyebrow in confusion. "…For what?"

"For keeping your promise."

"Ah…" America fell silent. _…Right. That promise I made him…_

"I thought… I was going to turn into one of them. When the alarms sounded…and the power to the machine went off…" Russia tightened his hold on America. "I wasn't sure if I would ever see my home again."

America wrapped his arms around Russia and gave him a warm, reassuring squeeze. Russia returned the hug with interest. They stood like that for a while, clinging to each other in silence.

"When you reached me, you were upset." Russia pulled away, but left his hands to linger on America's shoulders in a soft, reassuring grip. "More than…I expected."

America let his hands fall away when Russia stepped back. He stared at Russia's barrel-like chest, refusing to meet his piercing gaze.

"There was…a lot that happened before Mattie and I reached you. I…" America sighed and blinked back a wave of dizziness. "That ship is gone… the alien _nation_ is gone." Breathing in and exhaling softly, America raised his gaze to meet Russia's. "Matt can tell you most of it but…I'll tell you later. Okay?"

_I don't want to think about that nightmare anymore._

"I don't want _Matthew_ to tell me." Russia tightened his hold on America's shoulders. "I want _you_ to tell me."

Russia studied him for a moment and ran a critical gaze over the younger, exhausted nation. Disappointment settled in the depths of his gaze as Russia frowned deeply.

"You always do this."

America looked away, knowing what was coming, but too stubborn to give in.

"You never tell me anything. If you are upset or hurt, I have to find out about it through someone else, not you." Russia complained, his mouth tightening into a thin line. "You never confide in me. Even though we are…_together_…" Realization dawned. "…You still do not trust me, do you?"

"No!" America raised his gaze to meet with Russia's. "That's not it-!"

"Do not _lie_ to me." Russia growled in anger. "After everything that has happened-!"

"No!" America insisted, raising his voice at him. "Look- I'm sorry about not confiding in you. I'm sorry about not spilling my fucking guts- its just…it's _hard_ for me to do that, okay?" America gasped, and staggered backward as a surge of light-headedness spilled through him. "I can't speak my mind – not _completely_ – to England or France..not even my own brother! The only one I feel comfortable talking to is _Tony_." America explained, feeling vulnerable baring even this much. "I feel I can tell him everything… and I'll never have to worry about my words coming back to bite me in the ass politically, economically… I'm sorry, Ivan. I just…"

America trailed off, unable to say anymore.

Russia continued to frown, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"Alright."

America turned to the hole in the bottom of the hull and heaved a shuddering sigh. Russia stepped forward and slid into the water with ease, sinking into the frigid liquid up to his shoulders. Turning back to America, he moved back to give him room. Angry at himself for not being able to do this himself, America bit back a stubborn frown and slowly, shakily, lowered himself. The water reached higher, rising up to encase his legs, his rear, and finally his waist. Once it reached his belly, America hissed at the discomfort of the frigid water. Biting back the stinging pain, he lowered himself into the water and wrapped an arm around Russia's waist.

Russia tightened an arm around America and with a gasp, the two sunk underwater. Ten seconds later they surfaced, America with a greedy gasp, Russia with a calm breath of air. Canada knelt on the wing and reached down, grabbed America by the arm and dragged him up. Water sloshed over the wing, causing the ship to tilt to one side. Once America was on the wing, Canada knelt and dragged him back to the central area of the spaceship. Russia swam to the engines, grabbed one edge of the jagged metal that stuck out and heaved himself upward. Soon all three sat on the roof, Canada and America huddled together and shivering, Russia sitting directly beside America with a tiny, serene smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"S-so fucking cold…" America shivered and clung to his twin for warmth. Canada gladly obliged, as he wished to seek his southern twin's body heat. "Augh…"

With the previous rush of adrenalin gone, exhaustion slowly took its place. Cuddling up against Canada, America pressed a cheek to his shoulder and let his eyelids droop closed.

"Wait…Alfred-" Canada wiggled his shoulder. America groaned and stubbornly squeezed his eyes shut. "Don't fall asleep yet. You have to see this."

"Mmm…see what?" America sighed and forced his eyelids open. "What is it-?"

His voice fell away, the sounds of waves crashing and the distant ocean birds calling pushed to the way side at the glorious sight before him. Debris from orbit was finally falling to earth and burning up in the atmosphere. Even during broad day-light, the plumes of fire and smoke were clearly visible. The debris numbered in the thousands, the burning red-orange fires, flashes of yellow-white gasses burning up, trails of smoke all clearly visible against the backdrop of the clear-blue sky.

The image of those fireballs blazing through the sky would forever be burned to America's mind.

_So beautiful…_

The three nations sat and stared in open mouthed, wide-eyed silence for a long, long time.

"They're gone." Canada finally broke the silence, his voice choking with emotion. "They're _gone_. Their ships are all destroyed." He sucked in a shaky, on-the-verge-of-tears breath and swallowed down the ball of emotion that jammed itself in his throat. "We will never have to worry about their bombs again…or their planes…or tanks… or _anything_."

"They will no longer look down on us. No longer fly over our remaining towns and bomb them from the air. No longer gun our people down while they flee for survival." Russia stated with a firm edge. "No longer take our remaining military bases and hold them for their own benefit. No longer burn our crops…poison our water… capture our fellow nations for their own selfishness."

America bit his tongue until the warm, copper taste of blood spread over his taste buds. Hot tears slowly slid down his cheeks.

"We will never look up into the sky at night…with fear, ever again." Russia growled, his gaze narrowed with angry determination. "Never."

Sucking in a shaky breath, America rubbed the tears from his cheeks and eyes with the back of his hand.

_So long as I still exist, I will never forget what happened._

America let his head fall back onto Canada's shoulder, a wave of exhaustion consuming him. Canada wrapped a comforting arm around America's shoulders.

"I'm glad you're here…both you and Russia." Canada said in a small, shy voice. "After everything that's happened…and all the traveling we've done…I feel like everything will be okay, with you two here."

Russia gaze softened, but kept it on the sky. America snuggled up against his twin, enjoying the warm, protective feeling rush through him at their close proximity.

"I…yeah." America stuttered, his eyelids growing heavier by the second. "Hey I'm…gonna sleep for a while."

"How long?" Canada turned to him, eyebrows creasing together in worry. "Will you be okay?"

Russia finally turned to glance at America, a worried frown filling his face.

"A while…jus'…dun' worry…" America's voice slurred, his eyelids slowly fell shut. "I'll…ah…"

America sagged against his twin, and he fell away into unconsciousness.

* * *

Six Hours Later

The sun was setting in the late afternoon, its color growing a fiery orange red. Nearby stood a huge, two-hundred year old sailing ship, Spain's flag flying proudly at one end of the ship.

"Thanks for coming out to pick us up, Antonio." Canada stood on the wing and held an arm out. Spain reached from the small, rowboat he was in and grasped Canada's outstretched hand. Canada pulled Spain and the boat closer to the wing. "Did the signal…?"

"Did it _work_?" Spain laughed. "It turned _everything_ off! Their ships that bombed my coast for weeks are being used for target practice now." Dark satisfaction crossed through his face. "Never has it felt so good to see my enemy helpless in the water."

Canada smirked, and turned to Russia, who was still sitting on the roof of the ship with America's limp body half laying on the ship, half on his lap.

"Hey Ivan," Canada started. "Let's move him to the boat."

Russia glanced back, eyeing the boat Spain was in for a moment before turning back. Threading his arms under America, he lifted him up and slowly walked down the ship towards the wing. Canada took hold of America's legs as Spain and two of his citizens eased a plank of wood out to stabilize the boat and provide a steady surface.

"Careful." Canada whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "Easy…"

America's head lolled back, his hair flipping back. Sailor's kept the boat steady as Russia handed America off to Spain, who in turn carefully laid him down on the bottom of the boat. Once America was settled, Russia stepped inside the boat, with Canada picking up the rear. As the two settled on a low bench, Spain stared at America and ran a critical eye over him.

"I've never seen him like this..." Spain glanced back to Russia and Canada as the sailor's started rowing back to the huge ship floating off behind them. "Will he be alright?"

"He'll be fine." Canada reassured Spain after Russia didn't offer an answer. "He just…went over his limits. If you know what I mean."

Realization dawned in Spain's eyes. "Ahh-…yes. I am familiar with that." He smirked. "I assume he will be sleeping for a few days then?"

Russia glared off into the distant horizon. Canada nodded, a nervous smile growing across his face. Spain frowned, motioned to Russia with a nod of his head, and sent Canada a questioning look. Canada shook his head, mouthing _it's-a-long-story_.

Spain, seeming satisfied with that, merely nodded and waited for the boat to dock with the ship. Shouting orders in his native tongue, the sailors helped the three nations to the main deck, where Canada and Russia carried America to a small, closed off area below deck. Laying America on a hanging cot, the two dropped their meager belongings to the floor and climbed into their own cots, where they immediately fell unconscious.

* * *

Mid-December/Southern France

News of the groups safe landing spread through the wires of the telegraph, spreading the word to nations all over the world. Spain helped the group travel through his country, stopping only to replenish their meager supplies before continuing, and by the time they crossed the Pyrenees mountains France had traveled to the border he shared with Spain to greet them. Stopping at a small border town, Spain stepped inside the telegraph building to pick up any current headlines from his country and to keep in contact with his navy, who was still patrolling their coastal waters and destroying the remnants of the aliens naval force.

America sat in the back of the wagon Spain used to transport them through his homeland. Russia sat upon a chestnut mare and continued forward, putting distance between him and America. The two nations had avoided each other since the landing. America, stubborn and youthful, refused to speak more of the argument he and Russia had directly after the landing. Every time the memory of the nightmare crossed his mind, something twisted in his chest, leaving him shivering and breathless. His feet and legs still suffered from the aliens invasion of his southern lands, and thanks to all of his strength he used in escaping from the alien's ships, the healing process was taking much longer the normal.

After wrapping his feet with medicine-soaked bandages, he used crutches to keep the cuts, lacerations and blisters from opening up. While traveling, he sat in the back of the wagon and propped his feet up using his bag. Canada turned from the front of the wagon, transferred the reins to his right hand and glared at him. America frowned and looked away.

"I'm _really_ getting sick of this, Al." Canada growled, his voice flat with annoyance. "You have to do something."

"Do what?" America crossed his arms. "I already told him everything-"

Canada dropped the reins, stepped into the back of the wagon and knelt before his twin. America edged away, not liking the anger glint in his twin's glaring eyes.

"You're dating, aren't you?"

America blinked. "Um… uh-"

"You're _dating_, **right**?"

"Right."

"You two are /itogether/i, right? You consider you and Ivan to be a _couple_?"

America blushed, but nodded.

"Then what is the _problem_?" Canada snapped. "He's old enough to know that his _personal_ life is separate from his _nation_ self. Unlike _you_."

"Hey!" America protested. "I know where the line is-"

"Then why are you two fighting?"

"…Alright, fine."

Canada glared at him for a long moment before leaning forward. "If you don't do something, then I'm telling Francis."

"What- no." America shook his head vehemently. "Don't. He'll only make things _worse_-"

"Then talk to him."

With that, Canada jumped over the side and stormed off, making sure to stomp his feet a little harder than normal. America sighed and slumped against the side of the wagon. The door to the telegraph office exploded open as Spain rushed outside, clutching papers in his left fist.

"They pushed them back!" Spain exclaimed, rushing up to America. "The aliens were pushed back to the Mediterranean-"

Spain grew quiet at the look America gave him. Frowning, he stepped closer and crossed his arms over his chest.

"…Do I _want_ to know what happened?"

* * *

_Next Chapter: America and Russia have a heart-to-heart; The group arrives in Germany to pick up Nevada when Tony calls through the wireless with bad news._

Extra Notes:

**Durák** - a fool, a moron, an idiot

**Тихо** – Slow/Slowly

**Pyrenees Mountains** - [Wiki] "…are a range of mountains in southwest Europe that form a natural border between France and Spain. They separate the Iberian Peninsula from the rest of continental Europe, and extend for about 491 km (305 mi) from the Bay of Biscay (Cap Higuer) to the Mediterranean Sea (Cap de Creus)."


	25. Chapter 25 Part 1

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & mature themes.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

* * *

"He should be here by now." Spain tapped a foot on the ground and frowned with impatience. "He said he would be here by noon on this day…and now the sun is nearly set!"

America sat in the wagon, his hurt feet propped up. Canada sat beside his twin, cleaning and sharpening his knife. Russia sat on the opposite side of the twins with a book open on his lap, the same book he'd carried with him all through their journey and read multiple times. "До́ктор Жива́го" was printed across the book cover.

"If he's running late, then maybe we should go on ahead to meet him?" Canada paused in his sharpening and turned to look at Spain. "He might have run into trouble."

"It is true that our lands are still infested with the aliens…" Spain frowned. "But you are right. We should continue forward. I will leave a message with the telegraph operator just in case we miss him." He pushed himself off the side of the wagon and walked across the street, disappearing inside a cottage-style building. After a minute, Spain exited the building and jumped back up to the front of the wagon, taking up the reins. Canada and Russia also exited the wagon and returned to their mounts. America remained in the wagon with the rifles and his two magnums.

Spain cracked the reins, and the wagon jolted forward. America glared at his feet, hating his weakness and inability to do anything useful.

Time passed slowly due to his inactivity. America let his head fall back against the side-wall of the wagon as he stared into the darkening sky. Venus hung low on the horizon, barely visible over the deepening forest to the south. Open fields surrounded them, void of snow but the air deadly still with the frigid cold of winter. Shivering, America burrowed deeper into his jacket and tucked his chin inside the scarf wound around his neck. His feet ached and burned, the medicine soaked bandages doing little against the pain from the open sores, cuts, lacerations and other wounds inflicted from the aliens invading his southern lands. Despite knowing his southern states were likely in a worse physical state than himself, he couldn't help but feel relief at knowing the alien's technology was dead.

_It'll only be a matter of time, now._ America smiled. _We'll keep chasing them until they're all dead._

Spain halted the horses with a shout. Canada and Russia had their rifles up and ready to fire within seconds. America jerked in surprise and turned to peer down the road. A blonde-haired man in old clothing stepped out from behind an abandoned car, his hands raised in a peaceful gesture.

"C'estmoi, Francis!" France stepped closer. "Baisse ton arme."*

"Francis!" Spain exclaimed. "What took you so long?"

"I ran into trouble on the way here." France put his hands down, shoulders wilting. "A group of alien scouts caught me by surprise."

Spain set the reins own and jumped from the wagon. "You are un-injured, I hope?"

"Oui." France smiled, and turned to look over Russia, Canada and America. "It is good to see you three again. All of us were very worried."

Canada slid off his horse and rushed to meet him. France met him with open arms, the two hugged warmly for a moment.

"Oh _Mon Chou_…" France pulled away, smiling at his _little brother_. "I missed you."

America struggled to his knees, picked up a pair of crutches Spain managed to find for him, and stepped off the wagon. He slowly made his way to France, who freed an arm to wrap it around America. Gathering the twins in his arms, he squeezed them affectionately.

"And there is _mon petit diable_…" France smirked. "Always causing us trouble. How are your feet?"

"Not all the time." America frowned at the nickname France gave him. "But their doing better."

"_Cher_ Arthur was very worried." France let his hands fall back to his sides. "Not that he would admit it. _But __**I**__ know_."

"Tu nous manquesaussi, Francis." Canada admitted softly in his Quebecois accent, a shy smile growing on his face.*

"Oui." America admitted, his southern Creole twang sneaking in. "To apres me manqué."*

France smiled at their use of his native language, unable to help being charmed by the vast differences in their accents. He stepped away from the twins and walked over to Russia, who remained on his saddle.

"I see you are looking well." France stated. "Your sister's are safe and sound."

"Good." Russia exclaimed shortly, despite the obvious relief in his features. "They know I am free and well?"

"Yes, news of your safety have already gone through the wires." France turned back to the others. "But the earth is still filled with many aliens, especially my southern lands. We must hurry back to Northern Germany for safety."

The other's nodded in agreement. America stepped back to the wagon and hefted himself back up with Canada's help. France took the reins of the wagon as Spain took Canada's horse.

"Thank you for everything, Spain." Canada offered, gratitude filling his voice. "We wouldn't have made it this far without your help."

Spain bowed his head, accepting Canada's thanks. Waving, he kicked his horse and galloped back down the road. France took the reins of the wagon and snapped them twice.

"With horses, we should make it to Germany's place in a week or two." France placed his rifle across his lap. Canada sat beside him, rifle in hand and ready to fire. Russia followed along side them at a trot, watching their backs.

"Have things calmed down at all since the signal was started?" America asked out of curiosity.

"Well…they have not been so willing to attack like they used too." France explained. "We have pushed the main forces back into the Mediterranean, but there are still many pockets and scouting groups that remain. I know England, Ireland, Sweden and Finland have managed to eradicate them from their lands."

America kept quiet, thinking of his own lands while peering at his feet. _Things must still be bad if they're still like this…_

Disappointed, he sighed and relaxed back against the side-wall of the wagon.

* * *

One Week Later/Late Evening

Unable to sleep, America fled the warm confines of the tent he shared with Russia and walked, with the help of his crutches, to the nearby creek. The water trickled by, the air silent and still with the frigid cold of winter.

The nightmare plagued his thoughts. He tried thinking of other things, of his worries back home, of seeing England, Tony and Nevada again. Of being safe and sound back on earth, and not in those alien space ships…but it always returned. The images of the water and the cliff. The voices speaking those horrible truths… the things that had been so close to coming true. And then…when he'd finally found Russia, floating limply in that vat of jelly-like liquid… America swallowed and shuddered.

_But it's over now. Those things won't happen anymore. The alien's technology is gone. We can beat them._

America shivered, and clenched the blanket tighter around his body.

_Except.. why do I still feel as if…something bad is going to happen? Why-_

A branch snapped behind him. America tore his magnum from his belt and pointed back. Russia stood behind him, dressed in black pants and a white t-shirt, seeming unaffected by the cold. America sighed, snapped the safety back on and holstered his weapon. Russia took a seat directly beside him and waited.

America swallowed and frowned, knowing what he wanted to hear. _He deserves to know. I… I need to tell him._

Breathing inwardly, America steeled himself, clenched the blanket ever tighter around him and opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out, save for a sigh.

Russia said nothing and waited in patience.

"I…this is hard for me, okay?" America finally admitted after a few moments of tense silence. "Back…when they finally captured me at Area 51, I…I had this really vivid dream."

Russia glanced at him, a question resting in his gaze, but he held his tongue.

"I…" America sighed. "At first it started out as a memory. You know when you dream and reenact it? Well…it was when we…uh… first got together."

"At the observatory."

"Yeah." America blushed, a hot red filling his cheeks. "It went along just like before except…when we got out to the car, it changed and I was suddenly in water and drowning…but Kenāne caught me and…she said all of these things." America breathed a shuddering breath. "They…were…things. From my past and…things I don't want to remember… she kept talking and talking…and then Arthur appeared beside her. And then he started saying all of these things… things that would happen if the aliens had their way. Horrible things…about my people…my land… but it was something I already knew about. I just.. hearing them say it…" America swallowed. "But it didn't really affect me until they started talking about you."

Russia's eyebrows rose skyward. "…Me?"

"They said that…you would be the only one who remained and…remembered everything." America clenched his fists. "That…while all of the other nations were dead, their memories wiped and their bodies gone… you would still be…_you_." America glared at the soil, his chest growing tight. "You would be alone… in the dark…forced to fight for them forever."

Russia breathed, his face paling at the thought.

"And that…_that_…" America turned a glare at the starry night sky. "I was so _angry_ and…I just _couldn't_ let it happen and…I woke myself up and escaped. I took an alien hostage and found Mattie…I freed him and that was when the power went out." America gushed out, the words coming faster. "We managed to find a supply closet and got a radio…with the help of Tony we connected it to earth, found some human space suits that aliens _collected_." Fury surged through him at the memory of the space suits with holes and dried blood stains. "We did a blind jump from the ship we were on to your own and we fought our way through the other ship until we found you."

America trailed off, a slight tremble taking hold in his hands. "It was really…really scary. Fighting all of those aliens. It was like…they just kept coming and coming. The alarms and the fire and…the screaming. All of the screaming and screeching…" He paused a moment, the memory of the sound ringing in his head. "I...I thought we were going to run out of ammo and…and…"

Russia scooted closer and slid an arm around America's shoulders. "It is over now."

"I know." America admitted. "But... I think it's going to be a long time before I go into any tunnels or… yeah." America smiled, attempting to shrug it off. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything before. I just…I wasn't…you know."

"I know." Russia agreed. "I was awake when they put me under. I could hear, feel and see – if my eyes were open – everything around me. They put me in that _thing_ and filled it with water…I thought that was it. That…they were going to turn me into _one of them_. That…my body would change and…" Russia cut himself off and sucked in a deep, calming breath. "I know…I _know_."

America curled an arm around his waist and snuggled closer, pressing his face to Russia's chest. "….I am really fucking cold." America finally admitted, shivering uncontrollably. "This blanket isn't working."

"You could not sleep…so you came outside?" Russia asked, amusement in his voice.

"It's a habit, okay?" America pulled away with a frown and stood, clutching the blanket around him. "When I can't sleep, I go outside and stargaze."

Russia followed America back to their tent, the two crawled into their sleeping bags. America, shivering and freezing, turned around so his bag opening faced Russia, snuggled close and pressed himself to him. Russia hissed in surprise when America's frozen hands touched the warm skin of his lower back.

"Sorry." America whispered. "But I'm really fucking cold."

"Your fault." Russia mumbled sleepily into America's hair.

"…Ivan?" America asked, burrowing into Russia's bag and burying his head in his chest. "Are you asleep yet?"

"Yes."

"No you're not." America's exclaimed, indignant. "Hey…hey Ivan?"

Russia sighed. "…What _now_?"

"I…" America's face burned crimson. "I'm sorry."

Russia hummed a reply and rubbed a warm hand across America's back, his breathing slowly evening out. America pressed his face to his chest.

"Ivan?"

A snore answered him. America breathed in his unique scent of pine trees and chamomile and exhaled. His muscles relaxed as his body slowly warmed up from their mutual body heat. Giving into his urges, America snuggled closer to the elder nation, using his shoulder as a pillow. He closed his eyes and tightened his arms around the other's waist protectively.

"…I love you."

America stared bleary eyed at the ceiling of the tent he shared with Russia, and sighed. The last four nights were spent fighting sleeplessness and staring at the ceiling of their tent. The sun just beginning to rise, a light rain fell outside and dropped against the dark canvas of their tent. The air was cool, crisp and silent…save for Russia lay directly beside him, snoring softly.

Turning on his side, America stared down at the elder nation. The cuts and bruises from the fight on the alien ships in orbit were nearly healed. Tracing one that ran across his chest, America frowned.

_We came so close to dying… if we didn't have the other's help…_

Russia hummed inquiringly, shifting in his sleeping bag and blinking the sleep away. America curled his fingers back from the puckered, scabbed over cut he traced, leaned forward and kissed him. Russia lay there in surprise for a moment before kissing back in short, chaste kisses. America pulled away, pressing a hand to his mouth.

"Ah-…sorry. Morning breath." America made a face. "I-"

Russia reached up and tugged him back for another kiss.

"Don't – care." Each word was punctuated between kisses before Russia ran a tongue along America's lips, wishing to be invited inside.

Melting against him, America opened his mouth. Russia's tongue moved against his, their soft, gasping breaths mingling in the frigid winter air before disappearing. Russia moved his hands up and around to slide over America's backside. Throwing a leg over him, America straddled Russia's hips and resumed their kissing session. Reaching up, America picked at the bandages covering the scars on Russia's neck, unfurling them until they fell away. He rubbed the pads of his fingers over each puckered layer. Russia broke away from the kiss with a gasp, but America continued kissing down his jawline running his lips and tongue down to his neck. A muffled moan escaped from Russia's lips before he could bite them shut.

"Shhh~" America whispered while running his tongue down his neck. "Don't want the other's to hear…"

_Especially France..._

"Mmm…" Russia hummed, gripping the others hips and grinding himself against him.

Biting down a gasp, America returned the gesture, earning a red tinged blush that filled Russia's cheeks. Russia, not wanting to be out done, slid his hands back to America's rear and squeezed each cheek while he lifted his hips up to grind back. Clothes and bags rustled as the two moved against each other, grinding their hips and hardened arousals against each other. Pressing his hands to Russia's chest, America rolled his hips harder and faster, a soft, panting gasp broke from his lips and punctuated the air within the tent.

Russia reached up and pulled America flush against him, mashing their lips together to silence them. America made an annoyed sound at the back of his throat and narrowed his eyes at him in retaliation.

Voices came from the other tent, all of it in French. The sound of canvas being shoved away and footsteps sounded in the air.

Shoulder's wilting, America broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to Russia's with a sigh. _Damnit…_

Russia smirked and moved his hands up America's backside, rubbing his spine appreciatively.

"We don't have to stop." Russia whispered shamelessly, eyes twinkling. "We could keep going."

"What?" America asked, mortified. "Are you serious?"

Russia answered by grinding up against America's hips, their hardened arousals touching through the thin fabric. America bite down a gasp and slid away.

"No way. I can't _do_ that!" America hissed, his voice barely audible. "I…I can't." His face burned crimson, his puritan roots rising up to consume him. "That's my _brother_. And _Francis_."

Russia only hummed and raised his eyebrows. America frowned, face still burning red, and turned around in his own sleeping back, willing his arousal away before he reached for his jeans. Threading his legs through, he scooted them up his hips and buttoned them. Russia stretched, groaning softly as his muscles stretched and joints popped.

Escaping the confines of the tent, America flung the canvas flap aside and stepped outside. Canada knelt before the circle of stones and blew on the glowing embers to rekindle the fire from the night before, his cheeks dusted with pink. France slowed in his rummaging of the cans of food to leer at America with a raised eyebrow, smile fixed on his face.

_Fuck. I'm never going to live this down._

Face about to burst into flames, America stormed over to the fire and picked up his pack, sending an embarrassed glare at France before stalking away.

"Where are you going, _monchou_?" France called. "I must know, so I can locate you if anything happens."

"I'm just going to the stream." America continued walking, refusing to turn around to show his beet red face once more.

_Damnit…why does this always happen?_ America cursed his shyness over showing affection in public. Being confident and outgoing was always _so easy_, and yet… his strict upbringing always reared its head at the worst moments. _Fuck…and Tony wasn't even there to break the atmosphere for me either…_ A pang of longing stabbed at his chest for his alien friend. _Hopefully he can come back soon…_

Large fields surrounded him, the grasses dull in color, due to the cold winter months. Crickets chirped and sang in the grasses, their song filling the air. Shrubs sprouted up ahead, followed by thorny bushes and large, bush-like trees. America pushed through them, being mindful of the thorns, and stepped into the stream. The water was cold, but not freezing. The temperature sent an electric jolt through him, shoving the shroud of sleep away. Not wanting his jeans or boxers to get wet, he peeled them off and draped them over the bushes and went back into the stream, crouching slightly. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a blue cloth and a wedge of soap. Dipping both into the stream, America scrubbed them together for a moment before scrubbing his face, neck, hair and chest. Repeating the scrubbing motion, he resumed on his arms, legs and other areas, sponging the grime from the road away. Dipping the cloth back into the stream, he dripped the cold water over his head over and over again, washing the thin layer of soap away.

America paused in his ministrations, eyes narrowing. The air was deadly silent. The insects in the fields, the birds in the trees, and animals along the river… their normal level of noise was gone.

Alarm rising, America lowered his hands from his hair and glanced around. Finding no one, he grabbed his belongings and retreated into the bushes, returning to a low crouch, and waited. Minutes passed, the silence stretched on and on until finally, the bushes rattled on the far side of the stream. A single alien stepped out from the bushes, a _human_rifle clutched in its tiny hands. It looked around, surveying the area for a moment before making a clucking noise. Dozens more exited the bushes, all carrying human weapons. Some have small hand guns, others clutched rifles, but two more carried a much larger gun. It's barrel was large and very long.

_Holy shit…they have a water cooled machine gun._ America instantly recognized the Browning Machine gun, having used it in both World Wars in the past century. _Where the hell did they find one?_

The aliens knelt and filled jugs with water from the stream. Once full the slung them over their backs and croaked at the others. The group started moving across the river in the direction of their camp.

_Fuck!_America pulled his boxers on one handed, turned and ran as quickly and silently as he could through the bushes and into the field. Skidding to a halt in camp, America flung his pack to the ground and rummaged through it for his magnum.

"An alien patrol is crossing the stream right now." America gasped. "They have human guns, including a water-cooled machine gun!"

The others burst into action. Canada and France flew to their tent for the weapons they had. Russia grabbed his weapons from the tent, and motioned to the depression on the other side of the road, a good place for cover.

America waved at him to go ahead while he ripped up a handful of grasses. Canada and France followed Russia across the road, where all three half-crouched, half sat in the dirt beside the raised road. America swept the ripped grasses across the ground, clearing away their footprints on the road.

"Hurry!" Canada hissed at him.

America swept the last footprint away and jumped into the depression, his belongings crashing to the ground beside him.

"How many?" France asked, his voice clipped and serious. "A dozen?"

"Around 15 of 'em." America whispered. "From what I could see, around half had hand guns, the other 4 had rifles. The last two carried the water-cooled machine gun."

America fished a small hand-held mirror from his pocket, held it up and focused it on their empty camp. Frowning, he turned it away and focused on the field. All of the aliens were cautiously approaching the camp, many croaking and growling at each other. Canada pressed up to America and peered up into the mirror.

"They see our horses." Canada whispered to France and Russia. "Entering the camp now."

"When all are in the camp, stand up and fire." France checked his rifle once more to ensure everything was in working order. "Make every shot count. We need their weapons _and_ammo."

Everyone nodded in agreement, as weapons that were in _working order_were become harder to find. Ammo was also in short supply, due to the lack of refined materials and working factories available.

Canada and America peered into the mirror, waiting and watching in tense silence.

"Almost… just a few more…" Canada whispered.

"Come on…" America urged impatiently. "Come on…"

"There!" Canada slid away and readied his rifle. "Now!"

All four nations stood up, aimed and fired. A cacophony of sound flooded the endless fields and meadows surrounding them. Aliens screeched and scrambled to fire back, the group breaking into chaos. America held both magnum revolvers and fired all 12 rounds with quick succession, putting a single bullet in every alien. Crouching back down, he reloaded as Canada, France and Russia continued shooting. The last alien fell with a scream, its weapon crashing to the ground. The deafening gunfire halted, leaving only the whinnying of the horses as they jerked at their leashes tied to the ground, wanting to get away from the rotten, dead aliens. Putting the safety on his magnums, America reached for his pack, flung it over his shoulder and stepped up the steep incline to the road. France, Canada and Russia followed, crossing the road and picking up the human weapons the aliens held. Ammunition was unloaded from each weapon and put into a bag. The empty guns were loaded into the wagon and hidden under their extra supplies. America stepped over to the water-cooled machine gun and picked it up, peering at its construction, make and condition.

Canada stepped over and picked up a bag that was full of empty brass shells. Three ammo boxes lay beside it.

"Where did they _find_this thing?" Canada wondered out loud. "I haven't seen one since the last world war."

"Same here." America unloaded the string of ammunition falling from tis right side and dropped it inside the bag full of empty brass shells. "They've used it recently, judging from the condition of the barrel, so it works."

Russia picked up the jugs of water and set them down beside the other bags. "This will be useful in the fight." He glanced to France. "Your people will benefit from this find."

France nodded in agreement, a tight smile growing on his face. "It pains me to say this… but with their weapons rendered useless from the signal, they are now going after _our_military bases for a means to fight back. We must guard our former military areas that escaped the flash with everything we have…if we hope to get rid of them once and for all."

"If the _elements_ don't kill them for us." Russia muttered darkly. "If this winter season does not kill those remaining in the north, the next winter _will_ do it. **I** will _make_sure of it."

"The deserts too." America remarked. "They don't do well in dry, hot places. Most likely those aliens left will head for the mild, tropical climates."

"Which means the nations closer to the equator will be fighting for a long time." Canada sighed, a weariness settling over his shoulders. "I cannot wait for them to be gone."

France nodded grimly and folded his arms across his chest, shouldering his rifle.

"You are _not_ alone in that feeling, _mon chou_."

* * *

One Week Later

A full moon hung overhead, illuminating the starry night sky. America leaned against his pack and propped his feet up on Russia's thigh. The elder nation was slowly unwrapping the soiled bandages and dropping them into the steaming pot of water set over the fire.

"I am so…_so_ sick and _tired_ of my feet being fucked up." America complained, his tone bordering on a whine. "If it isn't my feet, it's my dreaming. If it isn't my dreaming, its fevers caused by uncontrolled wildfires back home. If it isn't _that_-"

"_All_ of us are suffering, Al." Canada interrupted him. "We _know_."

"I _know_ you know, but-…I'm just tired of it!" America exclaimed, wincing when Russia jerked the last bandage free, tearing some skin away in the process. "Ow!"

Russia ignored America and peered at his feet. "They are healing…but this one is infected." Russia touched America's left foot. "It will have to be dis-infected."

"Oh fuck no." America groaned, knowing what was coming. "Please not the alcohol again- can't we use something else? Like..like the soap or-"

France stood and walked over to stand beside Russia. He peered down At America's feet, studying them for a moment.

"You didn't take your bandages off when you bathed last time, did you?"

Canada glared at him. "You did what?"

"It hurts when I take them off!" America whined. "I hate it-"

"You can be _such_ a baby sometimes." Canada complained, standing and walking to the wagon, picking up a solid steel rebar and walking back to where America lay. "You'll have to hold him down this time, Ivan…Since Alfred _crushed _the last one."

"No- please can't we do something different?" America pleaded, a cold sweat forming across his brow and neck. "It hurts so fucking much when you use the alcohol-"

"Shush now." Russia handed America's feet off to France, who knelt and placed them in his lap. Standing, he took the piece of steel rebar from Canada and knelt at America's head. Grabbing America's hands, he jerked them over his head and placed the rebar across either hand. "Hold still, and maybe we won't use more alcohol then _necessary_, lapochka."

"I'm not your fucking _lapochka_." America glared at him, angry at the pain, at his infected feet, and at his inability to walk. "Sadistic jerk-"

An alcohol soaked cloth pressed to his right foot. America shouted and tried jerking his feet away. Canada held them as best as he could, considering his twin's super strength. Russia pressed down on the steel rebar and peered down a America, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered across his face.

"_Fuck_!" America shouted, growling as they continued cleaning the cuts on his feet. "Do you have to scrub so hard!"

"Maybe if you didn't leave _wet_ bandages on them all day, then we wouldn't have to do this, would we?" Canada shouted back, unbothered at his twin's loud nature. "If Tony were here he would saw the same thing!"

"No-oooowww~!" America shouted back, his negative answer turning into another shout of pain as Canada scrubbed a _tad_ harder than necessary on one particular cut. "Not so _hard_- ow!"

"_Shit_- fuck!" America cussed as he clenched his hands around the steel rebar, the metal giving way under his grip.

Canada finally finished, and handed the now scrubbed clean foot to France, who smoothed a cool, numbing herb solution over his foot. Taking the boiled bandages, he wrapped them around his foot and secured them with a knot.

America gasped, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Russia finally pulled the rebar away, unable to help staring with fascination at the finger indentations before tossing it away.

"You're not allowed to bathe alone anymore." Canada snapped, irritation dripping from each word. "Since you can't be _bothered_ to take your bandages off."

"Yes, _mom_."

France took the pot of soiled hot water and flung the contents into the tall grasses nearby. Returning, he took a kettle, filled it with water and set it over the fire. "I am sure…one of _us_ will be willing to _watch _you while you bathe."

Canada sighed and rubbed at his temples, blushing at the comment. America growled a "whatever" at him and threw an arm over his eyes. Russia stared at France for a moment, leveling a chilling glare at him before settling back beside America with a sigh.

"If you can believe it…I found a sealed jar of instant coffee in the last abandoned home we checked for supplies." France changed subjects quickly at the look Russia was giving him. "I was going to save it for when we returned, but…I cannot wait any longer."

America jolted up in surprise. "You found _instant_ coffee?"

"It is decaf."

"Oh." America's happy expression melted. "That's probably why it was still there."

"Probably…but it will be nice drinking something with flavor." France admitted, and reached for a few tin cups. "Would you like some?"

America immediately said yes and reached for the cup. Canada followed suit, but Russia shook his head and turned his gaze to the brilliant night sky above.

France pour hot water from the kettle into each cup and spoon the instant coffee into the water. America used a stick he'd been carving to stir the powder into the liquid, and after a moment, threw the stick away and raised the cup to his lips, gulping the liquid down. It tasted like heaven in his mouth.

"Ohh… I miss having coffee."

Canada nodded, and drank his more slowly, savoring the taste. France smiled and sipped at his.

"I feel the same with wine. It has been so very long since I have had any _good_red wine." France sighed, a pained expression consuming his face. "No thanks to them burning nearly all of my orchards."

"Bastards." America grumbled, gulping down the last of his coffee and setting the cut in his lap."

"Oui." France help the cup in his hands and stared into the fire. "But with the aliens on the run… we can rebuild anew. And they will be far better than the orchards before."

America smiled and stared at his empty cup.

_I hope so._

* * *

Northern Germany

Nevada sat huddled before the fire, a blanket surrounding him, four playing cards clutched in his right hand, a half-burned cigarette in the other. Prussia sat before him, wearing only black jeans, combat boots and a patched button up navy blue shirt. He stared at his hand of cards, eyes narrowed. England sat between them with his own hand of cards, wearing dark brown pants, a cream button up shirt and an old black leather jacket. Germany sat at the front window stared out, rifle draped across his lap. The other nations already left for their respective homes.

"Well?" Nevada asked, breathing the smoke into the fireplace so the other nations wouldn't have to breath it in. "You gonna bet anything?"

"Hang on a second." Prussia stared at his hand for a moment before taking one card and setting it into the discard pile. Picking another up, he rearranged his cards for a moment before flicking a silver coin into the pile. Smirking, he glanced at the others and lay his hand down for all to see. A pair of aces stood out in the center of the hand.

England huffed and slapped his hand down, revealing a pair of jacks. "I never liked poker anyways."

"That's cause you never win." Prussia smirked, shit-eating grin firmly in place. "Well, _little state_? Come on, let's see them!"

Nevada calmly lay his hand down and raised his other hand to press the cigarette to his lips. England and Prussia gaped openly. It was a Full house, three 10's and two Kings.

"No way!" Prussia exclaimed, frowning. "A winning hand three times in a row?"

"He was not cheating." England admitted. "I watched him this time."

"What can I say?" Nevada couldn't help the smirk from growing across his face. "I'm just really good at poker."

"How come you kick ass at this game but America sucks at it?" Prussia asked, shuffling the cards together.

"Because Dad doesn't have a poker face." Nevada immediately explained. "You can read everything."

"Very true." England smirked. "The boy has never been one for controlling himself."

Nevada glanced at England at the sound of him calling his father nation a _boy_. It felt odd, having these European nations referring to America as being young and being a boy… but when you compared their true ages against each other…it was clear who was the elder, and who wasn't.

"Someone's coming." Germany announced suddenly, standing up from his chair and gripping the rifle. "I can't make them out just yet."

Prussia jumped up, grabbed his own rifle, and followed his younger brother to the door. England offered a hand to Nevada, helping the young state up before heading across the room to join the German brothers. Germany cracked the door and peered through. A second of silence passed before he lowered the gun with a smirk.

"It's them."

* * *

America jumped out of the wagon just before it rumbled to a halt. Leaving his things behind, he raced up to the house, flung his arms around Nevada and squeezed as tightly as he dared, burying his face into the state's brown hair and kissing him affectionately. Nevada hugged back, laughing and grinning in relief.

"How are you- are you okay?" America pushed Nevada away and looked him over. "I know I pulled a lot from you guys but I…I had no choice."

"I'm fine." Nevada insisted, deciding to leave out the part where he collapsed into a faint and remained unconscious for two days. "Just a little weak, is all."

"Really? You're not lying to me?" America looked him over once more before fixing his hair, a protective swell of emotion fill his chest. "I was so worried about you and the others."

Nevada waved America's hand away and stepped back, embarrassment filling him. "I'm _fine_, dad. Honest."

"Wait- your pale. Are you sure-"

"It's just a side effect." Nevada insisted, pink dusting his pale cheeks. "I'm fine. _Really_."

"Okay…alright."

While America and Nevada reunited, Canada joined France and England, the three greeting each other with relieved smiles. America stepped over to England, who was grasping Canada's hands, a warm smile on his face. America, not one for subtly, wrapped his arms around both England and Canada, squeezing them into a group hug. England couldn't help the amused, albeit awkward smile that appeared on his face.

"You two…_lord_ you have no idea how worried…" England cut himself off and wrapped his arms around the twins, his shoulders wilting in relief. "Just…don't ever worry me like that again."

Russia stood outside of the group of hugging nations and unloaded the wagons. Germany and Prussia came up to him and helped unload the food stuffs and other supplies inside. Prussia unhooked the horses from the wagon and walked them around the empty, insulated storage shed by the back of the house to prepare bedding, food and water for the animals.

"I told you I would bring them back, did I not?" France smiled down at the island nation, eyes softening.

England frowned and turned away, pink dusting his cheeks. "Yes…you did." He glanced over the North America twins once more. "Not bad for a _frog_. I could've done a far better job, I assure you."

"Oh, is that so?" France challenged.

"It is a _fact_!" England threw back. "First, I wouldn't have taken so bloody long to get here!"

"Oh what is that Aesop saying…_ah_- 'slow and steady wins the race'…right?"

America and Canada left the two dueling nations in a hurry and followed Russia and Germany inside. Nevada helped sort through the weapons while Germany put them into boxes and set them in an office-turned-weapons-stockpile. Russia set the ammo boxes for the water-cooled machine gun beside the bag of empty brass shells.

The back door slammed shut as Prussia entered the house from the back. "Horses are put away, but we'll have to find a bigger area for them. They're squeezed in tight-"

A series of electronic beeps pierced the air. All voices and discussion went silent.

"What was that?" Canada asked, eyes wide with confusion. "It almost sounded like a phone."

"It is the radio Tony left with us." Germany answered, crossing the room to the table where it sat on. "This is the first time he has called since you three landed." He picked up the head set and clicked it on, making sure the settings were on speaker for everyone to hear. "Yes, Tony? You are on speaker."

"Can I speak to Alfred?"

America stared at the radio in surprise. Germany stuttered a moment, also surprised at how Tony knew America was there in the house, and pulled the headset off. Turning, he held it out for America, an eyebrow raised in question. America took it and fitted it to his head.

"Hey Tony!" America exclaimed, smiling. "How is everything up there?"

"Everything that was small enough to burn up in your atmosphere is already gone. The bigger chunks are being herded into a _package_that will crash-land into Jupiter's atmosphere." Tony reassured. "Other than that… everything up here is done."

"Great! So when can Nevada and I expect you back?" America asked, hope filling his voice. "It'd be great if you gave us - and Mattie - a lift back home."

France and England finally entered the room, curiosity getting the better of them.

"I can't."

"Why not?" America turned indignant. "It'd suck to have to sail across the Atlantic again, ya know?" America insisted. "I mean…it was nice but, flying is so much better."

"Alfred-"

"Come on tony, it'd take you what, 30 minutes?" America fiddled with the mike, drawing it closer to his mouth. "Maybe a little more cause we'd have to stop for Mattie, but still! It'd be so much faster! We'd get there and get right back to work to fight against the aliens. You could help me fix the weapons we have and-"

"Can you just shut up for a second?" Tony snapped, growing impatient. "I need to tell you something."

"…Okay?" America hesitated, confusion filling him. "What is it?"

Silence flooded the connection. America waiting, shifting from one foot to the next before he finally sat down.

"Tony." America called, face narrowing in worry. "What's wrong? Is it the aliens?" Horror filled him as various scenarios entered his mind. "Are there more of them?"

"No, it's not that. It's…" Tony sighed long and hard. "I should've told you a long time ago."

Canada's eyes widened, realization dawning. The other nations crowded in around the speaker, straining to hear.

"…Told me _what_?" America dug his fingers into his knees. "Something's wrong. I can hear it in your voice."

"Nothing's wrong-…well…" Tony tapped his fingers, sighing once more. "You remember when we first met?"

"Uh-…yeah." America blinked, taken aback at the question. "I remember. You were exploring our solar system. Your ship was malfunctioning and you crash landed here. "

"Yes." Tony confirmed. "But that's not the entire story."

"It's…not?"

"My ship malfunctioning and my crash landing is true." Tony hesitated for a moment before he continued. "But I am not an explorer. I'm part of a volunteer only military secret agent program from my home planet. I came here on a mission. My sole purpose was to prevent the invasion that started six years ago."

America's tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth. A collective intake of air filled the room. Canada sat opposite of his brother, and stared at the speaker.

"These things that attacked you are known throughout the universe as _planet hunters_. My people were the first civilization to be attacked." Tony continued before anyone could interrupt. "My people are not an aggressive species. Our culture values knowledge, learning, discovering and experimenting over all else. That is why when the planet hunters attacked, we had no hope of defending it. Not like you did." Tony paused a moment to take a halting breath. "We had no weapons, no defense system…nothing. So, in order to preserve and ensure the survival of our species, we used our science, our technology…our knowledge…to destroy everything.

"We escaped and roamed the galaxy for five hundred years before finding a planet that could harbor us. After we rebuilt our civilization, my people decided that…they didn't want another civilization to endure what we went through. So that's when they created the volunteer only special agent task force. I joined the task force and was trained in stealth, communications, and combat. Our main purpose was only to observe and track the progress of the civilization, and if the planet hunters showed up, we were to do everything in our power to stop them."

America forced himself to breath.

Tony continued. "I was given my assignment 100 earth years ago. I arrived in your solar system in the year 1950. During a light speed jump, I flew through the tail of a comet, damaged ship, and crash landed-"

"-In Roswell, New Mexico." America finished. "It was in July."

Silence. Seconds ticked by.

"Yes." Tony confirmed. "July 8th."

"You knew." America's voice was soft, but razor thin. "You didn't tell me."

"I had no choice. I had to follow orders." Tony reasoned weakly. "I didn't trust you at first, but after a while-"

"_Why_ didn't you tell me?" America interrupted, his voice slowly rising. "After the flash…all of that time I spent **healing** when I was half _dead_-…and you never told me! Not once!"

"I had to be sure." Tony reasoned, this time his voice far more confident. "I had to be _absolutely_, 100% sure it was them."

"But even when you knew, you didn't still tell me! Aren't we friends?" America accused, growing more distraught by the second. "I…I-…"

"America, if they found out about me, their worst enemy, helping you humans… I didn't want to risk it." Tony stated, his voice firm. "The signal needed total and complete surprise for it to work. That's why I didn't say anything." Tony sighed after a moment. "I'm sorry."

America breathed and pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing the spot where his glasses rested.

"It's alright." America sighed. "I understand. I forgive you." He swallowed the lump back down his throat and leaned back against the chair. "When will you be coming back to re-join us?"

Silence filled the connection. America waited for a few seconds before shifting uncomfortably in the chair he sat in.

"Tony?" America called. "Do you copy?"

"I can't."

"Can't _what_?" America asked, patience growing thin. "You can't hear me?"

"I can't come back."

The raging feelings of anger, impatience, and betrayal disappeared. Something tight wedged itself inside America's chest.

"…What?"

"I can't return." Tony repeated. "I…I have to go back home."

"You…" America breathed, still reeling in shock. "Have to go back?"

"Yes."

Three seconds passed before America regained the ability to speak again.

"Why?" America demanded, heart breaking. "**Why** do you _have_to go back?"

"Because…those are my orders." Tony said weakly, but in a much stronger voice, stated: "_'You are to go to star system 34 x 107, planet L3. Locally named: Earth. Observe and report; Interaction with populace is at your own discretion. Log one hundred local years; return and report. If planet hunters arrive, use every means necessary to quell threat. If threat neutralized; return and report.'_" Tony paused a moment before speaking again. "We neutralized the alien forces. And now…I have to return and report."

"Can't you just send them your report remotely?" America pleaded. "Why do you _have_to go back?"

"Because-"

"And don't tell me because 'they're my orders'!" America snapped, his emotions rising and falling like a roller coaster. "Because that's _bullshit_! You don't have to go back! You can send your report via probe or _whatever_…and then you can rejoin us!"

"America…" Tony tried, his voice weak with emotion. "I don't _belong_here. I'm not a human being."

"That never bothered you before!" America accused, eyes growing misty.

"America…I have to go back." Tony repeated again. "Back home."

"You…" America choked, and breathed in a shaky breath. "But…"

"America. When I first crash landed here…I was afraid of you humans." Tony admitted, his voice soft. "All of you love knowledge and creating new things…but…you are ruled by emotions. You are strong and unpredictable… I didn't think I was going to survive on your planet." Tony breathed, his voice small. "But… one morning…you just showed up. You welcomed me and gave me a place to live…" Tony hesitated for a second. "You gave me friendship. I didn't want the planet hunters to attack the earth…I didn't want to see you hurting or…possibly dying.

"I'm not just a citizen. I'm a part of my home planet's special military task force. I don't have a choice in the matter." Tony sighed. "When they give me orders…I have to follow them."

"I…" America breathed, a heavy weariness overcoming him. "…I understand. Orders are orders…right?"

"…Right." Tony admitted, his voice wavering. "You're my best friend, America. I'll never forget you."

America blinked and swallowed, his heart twisting inside his ribcage at the alien's words. Nevada gaped open mouthed at the speaker. The other nations stared in shock, all of them rendered speechless.

"Hey- hey Tony!" Nevada called, his voice wavering slightly as he stepped closer to America. "The states and I-…we'll all miss you. Don't forget about us…okay?"

"I won't." Tony declared. "I'll miss all of you."

America gripped his knees and rode the wave of raw emotion the flooded his insides. It felt as if a part of him were being torn away.

"So… you're really leaving." America finally managed. "You're not…coming back."

"…No."

"I-…I'll miss you, then." America forced himself to breath. "I'll… it won't be the same with you gone."

"I'll miss traveling with you." Tony admitted. "And I'll miss your crappy cheese burgers. And playing those zombie games for you. Stargazing… and forcing myself to get along with the fucking commie so you won't get upset."

Tears finally spilled over as a smile blossomed across his face. "…Yeah. It won't be the same."

"I'll miss you, Alfred."

"I-…I'll miss you too, Tony."

"I gotta go…" Tony hesitated. "Goodbye, America."

America dug his fingers into the wooden arm rests, the wood grains slowly gave way under his fingers. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks and gathered along his jawline, dripping on his shirt.

"Goodbye…Tony."

* * *

_He's gone._

Static spilled from the speaker and flooded the room. America breathed and pressed an arm to his face, smearing the tears away.

_He'll never come back. He left me._

The stares of the other nations felt heavy as they burned holes through him. Blinking once, America steeled himself and lurched upward. The other nations stared at him, waiting for the explosion of anger, outrage, sadness and raw emotion. Nevada followed suit, and stepped closer to him.

_My best friend is gone._

"…Dad?" Nevada asked, his voice soft yet hesitant. "Al-"

"Go pack." America ordered, his voice low. "We've been gone for too long."

_I can't think about this. I can't worry and be sad when there's so much going on. I can't…fuck I need to get out of here. I need to be alone. I need…_

America turned around and stalked out of the room, back stiff, mouth pressed to a thin line. The other nations gazes followed him, some sharing glances of confusion, others bewilderment at America's reaction.

"Dad- wait!" Nevada followed him down the hall. "You mean right now?"

England glanced at Canada, both sharing worried looks. Russia frowned and stared at the speaker, a longing sadness filling his violet gaze.

"We're leaving tomorrow morning." America stated. "I need to get back home."

"But you just got returned!" Nevada protested. "At least relax for a day."

Nevada followed him outside, where America was picking up his belongings.

"I can't just sit here when the other states need me-"

"We've done okay for the past couple years." Nevada insisted. "They can wait one more day." Acting boldly, Nevada grabbed the bags from America's grasp and tore them away. "We're staying for another day."

America glared at the young state for a moment, seeming infuriated with his disobeying orders, but the angry front crumbled, his shoulder's wilting. Sighing, he stepped around Nevada and started through the snowy field.

"…Where are you going?" Nevada asked, dropping the bags and stepped forward after him, growing more worried by the second at his father nations strange behavior. "It's safer in the house!"

"I'm going for a walk."

* * *

America didn't return until late evening, shivering and turning blue. Russia set him before the fire place while Canada wrapped blankets around him.

"You shouldn't have stayed outside for so long." Canada chided half-heartedly. "I know your upset but…you have to think about the consequences of your actions."

"I know."

"There's soup in the kitchen. We'll have to warm it up." Canada stared at him and crossed his arms over his chest. "Alfred…Look. I…"

America clutched the blanket around him and stared at the floor, sulking. Canada sighed, shook his head and left. Russia remained where he stood, a frown deepening across his face.

"What?" America finally asked, glancing at him. "You have something to tell me too?"

"You are acting foolishly." Russia declared. "You are letting your emotions affect your judgment."

America clenched his jaw shut and turned away, eyes glinting with annoyance. "Is that so?"

Leveling a narrow glare at America, Russia stepped closer. "Tony would not want you acting like this."

America ignored him. Russia tensed and clenched his fists. Breathing roughly, he turned away, deciding a confrontation wasn't worth the trouble -_as their confrontations tended to get bloody and violent_- and stormed down the hall to the front door, picking up a rifle and exiting outside. England watched him leave and turned on America with a glare, totally and utterly willing to take the bull by the horns.

"If you think you're leaving tomorrow, then you're sadly mistaken." England growled, coming to a halt before him.

"What did you say?" America challenged, glaring at him. "I'll leave whenever I want!"

"Not when you're like this!" England demanded, holding his ground. "Not when your emotions are ruling your actions! I won't have it!"

"You're _not my keeper_!" America stood up, an old anger filling him. "If I want to leave I will! And you can't _stop me_!"

"Not if I have any say!" England shot back. "If you leave now you're likely to be killed by some idiotic decision!"

"What else is new?" America growled. "You always-"

"Every time you let your emotions rule your actions, something horrible happens that effects the rest of us!" England interrupted him, seething with anger. "Just like what happened when Matthew was kidnapped!"

"…Your never going to forgive me for that, will you?" America questioned, voice deadly calm. "Even though I didn't _mean _for it to happen-!"

"We're not leaving America." Canada returned from the kitchen to stand beside England, quickly changing the subject to prevent the two from coming to blows. "Not until things calm down."

"Not you too!" America shouted incredulously. "I can't _believe _this-"

"Until you have some control over yourself, you're staying here!" England ordered, leaving no room for argument.

"You can't do this!" America stood up, throwing the blanket to the floor. "Neither of you can stop me!"

"Alfred," Canada started, trying for a less confrontational feel. "We're only doing this because we _care_about you."

"Well don't!" America snapped, throwing it back into his twins face. "I don't want it! I don't need any-"

Nevada stormed up to America, clenched a fist and slammed it across his face. America reeled backwards, surprise flooding him. Panting, Nevada stood before England and Canada, both of whom were sharing looks of unbridled shock.

"You…" America started. "You _hit _me!" He touched his left cheek, it throbbed at the touch. "You fucking hit me! Why…I haven't had my own state hit me since 1860…"

"I can't believe you said those things!" Nevada accused. "I…I can't believe…after everything you taught the states and I…that you'd go and say that?"

America stared at his young, naïve state, guilt and sadness over coming him. "Nevada…_Carson_, I..." He sighed and glanced to England and Canada. "I'm sorry. I… I just… you know…"

England _hmphed_ and stormed back into the kitchen. Canada frowned and merely stared at him. America ducked away, feeling the weight of his twin's stare on him.

"Carson, I didn't mean too, I-" America reached for him. Nevada pulled away, glaring and frowning. "Please, Carson just let me-"

Nevada stepped back. "We're not leaving."

He turned and stormed away, leaving America alone.

* * *

The Next Day

America sat hunched over a map of _himself_. Markings of varying color covered the map, from coast to coast.

"So you've gotten word from Hawaii?"

"Yeah, they're doing well but… they're having real bad food and medicine shortages." Nevada admitted while casting a wary eye over America. "But she's been able to fend the aliens off."

"Good." America marked the map. "Now we just need to focus on the remaining military bases, as that's what the aliens will go for before retreating south." He marked locations all over the map. "These will have to be defended. What are the southern states doing about the invasion?"

"Well…from what I've heard, we've been fortifying towns and forcing the aliens into the wilderness areas…it's worked for us in the southwest, but…the southern states all have so much water everywhere that it's been hard to keep the aliens from using the wilderness to their advantage."

America nodded in understanding, making more marks on the map. Nevada stared at him, a worried frown slowly growing across his face. Seconds of silence passed, where only the scraping of America's pencil could be heard.

"Dad."

"Anything else you can add?" America asked, not looking up from the map. "We need to really work on this so we'll be ready when we meet with the president and the new congress and-"

"Dad." Nevada interrupted him. "I need to tell you something."

America paused in his furious writing, but kept his eyes on the map.

"Yes?"

"Um…" Nevada started, his voice wavering. "Tony left his bag here."

America sucked in a deep breath and lifted his head to stare at him, waiting for him to continue. Nevada swallowed and wiped his sweaty palms on his pant legs.

"I…uh…just thought you should know." Nevada explained, shrinking under his father nation's intense gaze. "It's in the hallway. He forgot it when he left, so…yeah."

"Oh." America refocused onto the map. "Well thank you for telling me."

Nevada stared at America for a little while long before sighing and returning his gaze to the map.

"You're welcome."

* * *

Moonlight filtered through the window and spilled across the bed sheets. America lay on his side and faced the wall. Russia lay opposite with his back to him, a wide space stretching between them. Sadness, confusion and guilt flooded him. Ever since his varied out bursts with Russia, Canada, England and his own state, everyone avoided him. Conversation was kept short, and a wide berth was given when passing by. America supposed it was just as well, considering his behavior. He didn't really mean to act this way, but Tony just up and leaving…it left him feeling cold and angry.

The alien had been his best friend for more than half a century. When he wasn't on official business, he was always at his side, whether it be merely shopping, working around the house, watching movies or cooking… he was always there. Over the years, America had grown used to his companionship and eventually came to terms that the alien would always be there at his side, a friend who wasn't connected to any nation or organization. A friend who was unbiased and cared only for his - _Alfred's, __**not**__ America's_- well being. A friend who saved him from ultimate destruction during the flash, nursed him back to health, and helped him come to terms with the new reality of a post apocalyptic world. There would be no more fancy gadgets, new movies, confectionery sweets, and all of the little things he loved in this new world.

At least…not for a very long time.

His beloved space program was utterly destroyed. The holidays, sports, contests, and other timeless events he'd come to love over the past century would take years, possibly decades to come back. The only steady, stable thing he had left was Tony. Tony would always be there at his side. Tony would always offer his dry, albeit sarcastic, advice to him, whether he asked for it or not. Tony would always steer him clear of bad decisions or dangerous situations. Tony would always be there at his side, through thick or thin, good or bad.

But now… Tony was gone.

He felt betrayed. How could he just leave him after all of the years they spent together? Weren't they best friends? _But…you're a soldier. A special agent… you'd been gone from home for so long…you had to go back. Orders are orders…something I know all too well._

The steady, stable, secure feeling of him being right there at his side was gone. His logical, unemotional way of thinking through a situation, and steering him away from making a decision based on his heart, instead of his head, was gone. No more star gazing. No more gaming or movie nights. No more listening to him complain about Russia and England.

No more Tony.

A choked gasp escaped as his heart wrenched within his chest. He quickly muffled the sound and sat up, swinging his legs over the side. Pressing a hand to his left temple, he reached for his glasses, fumbling with them for a moment before sliding them onto his face, and stood. Crossing the room, he opened the door and shut it silently behind him, missing Russia's concerned stare.

He padded barefoot down the hall, wearing only his navy-blue boxer shorts and a white t-shirt. The front entryway opened up, and there, sitting against the wall, was Tony's red backpack. America stared at it for a long moment, but eventually crept towards it and with a quivering hand, grasped the black canvas handle sewn to the top of the pack and lifted it. It was heavy and bulging, but America carried it with no trouble to the kitchen, where he set it down on the dining table. Pulling a chair out, America sat down and scooted forward.

He wrapped his arms around his chest and shivered. A soft breeze blew outside and whistled through the cracks in the windows. He didn't want to touch it… didn't want to have the reality of Tony's absence right there before him.

_If I touch it…then…_ America sighed, shaking his head. _I'm so stupid._

Prying his hands away from his chest, he reached for the backpack, grasped the zipper, and pulled it up, around and over, unzipping the first compartment. Swallowing, he lifted the flap and looked inside. Two hand guns and four ammo clips stared back. Grasping them, he withdrew them from the pack and set them on the table. Looking back inside, he found a pad of paper and a short, stubby pencil. Picking it up, he flipped through the notepad and found an endless amount of notes, in English, regarding the alien force. Everything from the biology, to their tactics, to the equipment they use, and everything else imaginable. Rubbing the invaluable information with his fingers, he set it down beside the weapons, and looked inside again.

A plastic bag of dried jerky and a four pinion pine nuts appeared. Smiling, he remembered Tony trying them for the first time. He said he didn't like them… but it seems he liked the taste of them enough to keep several of the nuts. Picking the food up, he set it down on the table beside the pad of paper and picked a nut up, rolling it around between his fingers for a moment before sliding it between his lips, chewed and swallowed. It still held the tart, smoky flavor from the fire Nevada roasted them on.

Smiling tearfully, he returned to the pack and opened it. A warped, plastic star chart stared back. His throat closed up at the sight as a flood of memories filled him. Picking it up, he found it was adjusted to the day before they arrived at Area 51… a month ago. Grasping it, he rubbed his fingers across the smooth surface and found pen markings scribbled around the sides. All of them marked his favorite stars, galaxies and other space phenomena. Hot tears finally spilled over and spilled down his cheeks. Sniffing noisily, he clutched the star chart for a few seconds more before he pressed it to his forehead. The cool plastic felt good against his forehead. He quickly pulled it away again, not wanting to get his tears all over it and get it wet, he set it down on the table and moved to the smaller, unopened pocket near the front.

Unzipping the compartment, he lifted the flap open and found a folded piece of paper there. Blinking in surprise, he smeared the tears away from his eyes and wiped the stains on his cheeks before unfolding the paper. Tony's neat, immaculate American-English hand writing appeared. It was a letter.

_Dear America_

_Stop crying._

_Don't deny it, because I know you are. You were always too emotional for your own good, because everyone in the world knows if you're angry, sad, upset, whatever. So just stop, okay? If you keep going on like this, then the commie will get upset because your upset, and the limey will think your incompetent and won't let you go back home, the fucker. I know your upset, but I'm only telling you this because you need to hear it. And because you're my friend._

_Right now you're probably feeling angry and upset at me for not telling you who I was…and why I'm leaving. So…I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you everything, but after the bombs fell, you were unconscious and lingered near death for months. When you finally woke up, and after you realized what happened, I didn't want you to worry about my situation. You needed to focus on you, and the invaders. Not on who I truly was, my mission, and that I was going to leave you behind after it was all done. I hope you can forgive me for doing that._

_The notepad I left behind has everything I observed about the invaders. It will prove useful in the long fight you and the other nations have ahead of you. Maybe sure the limey and Ludwig get copies, as they seem to be in contact with everyone. I want Matthew to have the jerky and pinion nuts left over. He's your twin brother, and I always liked him. His pancakes kick ass too. (But your burgers are better.)_

_I want the commie to get my weapons. I never really liked him, but he seems to make you happy, so that's all that matters. They were great guns, never misfired, and performed well. Since he has so much land to protect, they will be handy for him to use. And he seems to have a thing for guns…like you do._

_With you and him being nations, I know your immortal…sort of. But I hope this…relationship you have with him lasts. Just remember, you have a part of you that's a nation. The other part of you is Alfred. As much as you hate to be reminded of this, they are two different people. I've lived with you long enough to see these two sides acting in tandem. My last request to you, is that you start separating these two. You will feel better when you do this, trust me._

_I will miss you a lot. It won't be the same with you gone. Don't give up on restarting the space program, no matter what people say about the cost or other bullshit excuses they come up with. They'll thank you for doing it. Fuckers._

_Good luck fighting back the enemy, live well and say goodbye to the states for me._

_Forever your best friend,_

_Tony_

America set the paper down on the table, carefully took his glasses off and placed them beside the letter. Reaching up, he covered his face with his hands and cried.

* * *

America returned to his bedroom, clutching the bulging red backpack to his chest. Setting it on the floor, he returned to bed and scooted up close to Russia, who shifted away. America frowned, but didn't push it.

"I'm sorry, Ivan."

Silence stretched between them for a long moment, until Russia shifted around to peer at him.

"I was acting stupid." America admitted, his voice soft. "I'm sorry."

Russia lifted a hand and pressed it to America's forehead to check for a fever. America jerked away at the cold touch.

"You're freezing!" America exclaimed. "How can you be so cold?" America took the others hands within his own and rubbed them. "It's like your cold blooded or something, geeze."

"Are…you feeling alright?" Russia asked, eyes narrowing. "What-"

"I went through the back pack Tony left behind…and…he left a letter written to me. I'm still upset but… I'm dealing with it in a better way…now." America whispered. "It was weird but…he told me exactly what I needed to hear." A sad smile blossomed. "I'm still sad about it…but… " America reached for Russia's hand and interlocked their fingers together. Russia stared, eyes wide with bewilderment. "But right now you're not Russia. And I'm not America. I'm Alfred…and.." America blushed. "You're Ivan, my boyfriend. Right?"

Russia stared open mouthed and utterly shocked. America blushed a deeper shade of pink.

"Uh…isn't this what…people in a relationship do?" America questioned, feeling stupid for asking this. "They…confide in each other." America scooted closer, his warm legs grazing Ivan's chilled right thigh. "They trust each other." America wrapped his hands around Russia's waist and cuddled him. "…Right?"

Russia, deciding this was a nice change, curled his arm around America and pressed him flush to his side. America used his chest as a pillow and relaxed against him.

"I'll stay for another two days." America admitted, speaking into Russia's chest. "I…" He blushed fiercely at what he was going to say next. "I don't want to leave you yet, because…uh…I…don't know when we'll see each other again."

_God this is so embarrassing. Just let the ground open up and bury me alive-_

Russia smirked at him, seeming to sense his embarrassment. "That is good."

Russia settled into the sheets, pulling them up and around them.

"Now, go so sleep _lapochka_."

* * *

The moon hung in the night sky, casting a brilliant creamy light on the country side. The milky-white light caused the thin blanket of snow to glow slightly, as the moonlight reflected off the snow and onto surrounded objects. The largest stars could still be seen through the moonlight. America sat on the back porch of Germany's home and leaned against a wooden post. Sitting in his lap was the plastic star chart. England sat directly beside him and clutched a cup of warm water, flavored with mint leaves. Canada lay on the ground opposite of America, hands linked together to form a pillow for his head.

"He was a true friend." England finally admitted, his voice rough and soft all at once. "A friend like him…is a rare thing for a nation to have."

America stared at the moon, its light glinting off the lens of his glasses. England brought the cup to his lips and sipped, making a face at the stark flavor, but swallowing it all the same.

"How many friends did you have?" America asked, his voice quiet. "That were like tony?"

England shifted, unfolding his legs and stretching them out before him. He sipped from the cup again before resting it against his leg.

"Less than the fingers on both hands." England admitted. "I mourned their deaths… but once the pain of their passing eases, you look on the time you spent together with fondness. Tony may not be dead…" The _yet_ hung in the air as England paused for a moment. "…But it still feels the same."

America finally turned his gaze to the trees that stood off in the distance, unable to focus on the moon anymore. Canada drew his legs up from their sprawled position on the powdery snow.

"It'll be okay, Al." Canada sat up and reached around America, drawing him into a one armed hug. America gave in and rested his head on his twin's shoulder. "He may be gone…but you still have your people and your states to keep you company." Canada tried to be reassuring. "And you have us too… even if you make me want to strangle you half the time."

England snorted and shook his head knowingly, pressing the cup of warm mint-water to his lips. America grinned, wrapped an arm around each of them and squeezed them both to him in a warm hug.

_I should be happy._ America looked back to up the moon and turned his gaze to the grouping of stars called "Orion's Belt". _We're alive, the aliens technology is dead and they are on the run… _

A sigh escaped. America shook the heavy feeling away.

_Where ever you are, Tony…I hope you have a safe journey home._

* * *

America walked down the hall and stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Setting the candle on the sink, he dipped a cloth into the washbasin, squeezed the excess water and pressed it to his face. Cool refreshment filling him, America scrubbed a day's worth of dirt and sweat from his face and neck before cupping the water with his hands and rinsing the cloth out over the sink. Wetting his hair down, he pressed a hand to either side of the sink and stared into the mirror. His skin held the sun-kissed color he used to have before the flash. His cheeks were full, save for the dark circles under his clear eyes. A weariness he had never seen before filled his eyes. Peeling his hands away, he grasped the end of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head, draping it across the counter.

His torso looked like it escaped from a meat grinder barely intact. Healing scars covered his chest, arms and belly. A large, irregular burn mark over his heart. Jagged white scars covering his chest and abdomen. Many of the new scars and healing burns covered his old battle wounds. The scar from his revolution, his wars with _Kenāne_… all covered. Turning around, he peered over his shoulder and found the long, jagged scar stretching across his back from his civil war still intact, with dozens of new scars adorning him. Turning back around, America stared at himself for a moment more before sighing. The days of his smooth, _barely touched_skin were long gone. Now he had enough scars to give even the oldest nations a run for their money.

Wetting his hair, he picked up his shirt and left the bathroom, crossed the hall into the bedroom he shared with Russia. The room was dark, save for the moonlight streaming in through the window and pooling across the floor. Russia lay on the bed facing down, his head buried in the pillows, the blanket covering him from the waist down, showing a bare back covered with scars.

Warmth pooled in his chest at the sight. Shutting the door behind him, he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, scooting over and sliding under the covers. Moving up to Russia's side, he lightly traced the scars on his face, following the raised white lines, the new skin somehow softer than the regular skin of his back. A muffled noise came from Russia's throat. His head moved and he pulled his face out of the pillows and turned a one-eyed gaze at him.

America stared back, and moved his hand up to Russia neck, threading his fingers through his hair. Russia twisted and moved to lay on his back. Reaching up, he clasped a hand around America's wrist and pressed his face to the soft skin of his underarm, pressing his lips to the skin in a feather-light kiss before Russia pulled America to him. Their lips met in a fiery kiss, each clutching the other a desperate, pleading way. Covering Russia's body with his own, America settled himself between the others legs and moved his kisses past his jaw line and down his neck, sucking and nipping at the skin.

"_Ah-_…" Russia gasped, and dug his fingers into America's shoulders.

America moved down his body, pausing to lavish attention to the well defined collarbone before moving down his chest to fasten his lips around a nipple. Biting softly, America flicked his tongue across it in apology when Russia hissed at the sudden pain, and sucked it wetly. Moving to the neglected nipple, he moved the wet, saliva-coated one between his fingers while he sucked on the other. Russia's breathing grew rough and staggered, his hips moving up against America's, pressing a hardness into him.

"Impatient?" America asked, pulling away with a grin.

Russia glared at him, his cheeks flushed. "…Says the one who started this."

America blushed in response and turned away. Moving downward, America curled his fingers into the elastic waistline of Russia's boxers and tugged them down, revealing his half-hard length. Curling his fingers around the base, America pulled it upward and licked up the side, pleasure thrumming in him at the sudden breathless gasp from Russia. He licked up and down, kissing the head and admiring the soft, breathless noises Russia was making before he opened his mouth and plunged as much as he could inside, getting only about half. Russia made a strangled sound and his hand pressed to the back of America's head, his fingers threading through his hair.

America hummed, relishing the noises Russia made, and started moving his head, sliding his length in and out of his mouth, suckling and licking, sliding his lips over his teeth and pumping what couldn't fit in his mouth with his right hand. Closing his eyes, America focused on trying to get as much of Russia's arousal in his mouth without gagging, he listened to soft, breathy noises Russia made. Pleasure coiled within him, and America tried to ignore the urge to touch himself by using his left hand to palm and cup his sac. This earned him a moan, and America opened his eyes to smirk up at him for a second before closing them and refocusing on trying to give him amazing head.

After a while of doing this, America felt the hand move from his head to his shoulder's, pushing him away. America removed himself with a gasp, and turned to peer at Russia questioningly when the elder nation gripped his shoulders, shoved America to the bed and reached down to palm America's hardness through his own boxers.

"_Ah_- shit…" America cursed, wincing at Russia's rough handling.

"Mm…" Russia hummed, pulled his boxers down and throwing them somewhere behind him. Leaning down, he took America's length and quickly returned the favor, drawing him inside his mouth, his length disappearing past his lips until he was fully seated in Russia's throat.

"Fuck." America gasped eloquently, glancing down at Russia as he pulled his head away, and then back down, forcing America's hard arousal back down his throat. "Oh god… _Ivan_…"

"Mmm…" Russia hummed against him, the vibrations coursing through America's length and directly up his spine.

America gasped and clenched the bed sheets instead of reaching for Russia, for fear of losing his control and exerting his strength unknowingly. Russia's head bobbed at America's groin, deep-throating his hard arousal with relative ease.

"Yess~…" America hissed, hips wiggling. "Oh god."

Russia stopped and pulled away. America looked at him pleadingly, wanting him to finish what he started and was about to say something when Russia swung a leg over his waist and straddled him. America peered at him questioningly, but Russia leaned down and pressed their lips together in a chaste, reassuring kiss. Pulling away slightly, Russia stuck three of his fingers inside his mouth, wetting them with his saliva before pulling the same hand down between his legs and…

"I…Ivan…" America stared up at him, and tried sitting up. "Let me…?"

America raised his right hand and pressed it to Russia's mouth. Getting the idea, Russia moved his hand out from between his legs, opened his mouth and sucked America's fingers past his lips, curling his tongue around them. Unable to help the small gasp leave him, America tried not to think about how that same mouth had just been doing the same thing to his length.

Pulling his fingers away, America moved his hand between Russia's legs and up his back end, pressing one against his entrance. Pushing his fingers past the ring of muscle, he stretched him slowly and carefully, watching Russia's face for any signs of discomfort.

"Another." Russia whispered, cheeks turning pink. "More."

America obliged him and pressed another finger inside, pumping them in a slow and steady rhythm. A third finger was added, and America continued to pump them in and out, his arm moving between Russia's legs and brushing against his arousal. Russia's head hung from his shoulders, his shaggy platinum blond hair partially obscuring his face. America gazed up at him, watching the little changes in expression, listening to the breathless sounds he made, feeling him tighten and clench around his fingers. Unable to help himself, America leaned in to capture Russia's lips with his own probing mouth and tongue. Russia accepted, and the two kissed languidly for a long time, their tongues moving against one another, lips rubbing across each other, heated breaths mingling between their open mouths. After a moment of this, Russia pushed America back to the mattress, and reached for America's hard, aching length.

"Anything." America whispered back, sliding his hands up Russia's thighs.

Opening himself, Russia lowered onto America's engorged length in slow, halting movements until he was fully seated. America grunted and dug his fingers into the sheets.

"Fuck." America gasped, eyes sliding closed. "...so tight…"

Ivan breathed and rolled his hips forward and back, causing America to slide out, then in with a single fluid motion. America moaned, and moved to meet Ivan's languid movements. A slow, steady pace was set, the two rolling and thrusting against each other, gasping and breathing together. America, young and impatient, tried to quicken the pace, but Russia held him back and slowed him down, either forcefully by pressing himself down onto America's hips, forcing his engorged length deep inside him, or relaxing him with a deep kiss, using America's love for cuddling against him.

"_Ivan_-" America gasped, breaking away from their kiss. "Fuck- _please_-"

Russia pressed his hands to America's chest, adjusted his position on America's lap and using his knee's as leverage, moved to a faster, more familiar pace.

"Remember the feel..." Russia breathed, twisting his hips and rolling them back so America's length hit that spot deep within him. "_Ah-_" A gasping moan escaped. "Right there."

"Nnngh…" America pried his fingers from the torn sheets and gripped Russia's hips, moving them faster against him. "_Close_…fuck I-…I'm…gonna _cum_…"

Russia reached down to clench and tug at his own engorged length, causing himself to grind and rut harder against America.

"Ahh…_fuck…_" America gasped, his fingers suddenly clenching painfully around Russia's hips. "Ahh~…" He stilled, his entire body tensing as he climaxed, and then collapsing back into bed.

Russia jerked his stiff arousal, squeezing and tugging, pumping it with his hand until America reached down to help, their hands squeezing Russia's thick length until he reached his own climax, gasping softly and spilling himself on America's belly. Propping himself up with his right arm, Russia relaxed a moment, taking a moment to catch his breath and peer at America's post-coital expression of pure bliss before reaching over him to the nightstand and picking up a dry cloth. Dipping it into the tiny wash basin, Russia squeezed the excess water out and cleaned them both, as he didn't want them to wake up the next morning and have the results of the nights activities crusted to their bodies. Russia pulled away from America, his softening length leaving him, and he collapsed to the bed beside America.

America smiled, turned around and curled around Russia, their legs tangling together as America rested his head on Russia's chest. Russia, in turn, slid an arm around America's back and allowed them the luxury of cuddling.

"You are leaving tomorrow?" Russia asked while adjusting his head on the pillow.

"Mmhm." America hummed, his breaths evening out as sleep slowly took hold. "Tomorrow mornin'."

"Treat my TT-30 well." Russia ran his fingers across America's naked back. "The last time I gave it to you it came back water damaged."

America snorted. "I couldn't help it. The water from my…" America paused, trying to think of another way to say _Area 51_. "-one of my bases that had Tony's space ship-"

"Area 51?" The corners of Russia's mouth tugged upward into a smile. "I know what it is."

America frowned, eyes narrowing in annoyance. "You knew? What else did you know? Just how many spies and hidden cameras did you put in my home and hotel rooms and god knows where else?"

"I always enjoyed watching you from the _shower-head_angle." Russia admitted with a smirk. "You have a lovely singing voice."

"What?" America sat up, face turning scarlet. "You had one in my _shower-head_?"

Russia giggled and reached for him, wanting him to lay back down on him. America moved away, frowning cutely.

"You… you watched me like a pervert." America frowned at him. "You're a closet pervert, aren't you? Probably just as bad as Arthur I bet."

"Come back." Russia asked, tugging him closer. "You are warm."

"No, m'not." America flushed. "You…I bet you got your jollies off watching that."

"Watching you, soaking wet, rub yourself all over with soap?" Russia stated darkly, his voice turning husky. "And singing?"

America blushed deeply. Russia pulled him back to his side and curled his arm back around him. They fell silent for a while, the two relishing each other's touch and warmth.

"I don't know when we'll see each other again." America finally admitted, voice soft. "It'll probably be…a year or two, at most."

Russia hummed his agreement. America shifted, turning up to gaze at him.

"Hey… I just thought of something." America propped himself up on one arm and looked down at Russia. "Remember when we flew across the Bering Strait?"

"Da." Russia peered at him. "What about it?"

"I remember the…the Sherriff of that town we left saying something about the Diomede Islands being a huge alien military base." America stared down at him. "We'll probably have to check that out."

"Mmm." Russia tugged him back down for a kiss. "We will worry about that another day."

America melted against the kiss, and cuddled against him.

"I'll miss you."

Russia tightened his hold on America.

"As will I."

* * *

America stood near the wagon with Nevada as Canada and loaded the last boxes of supplies. Germany left earlier that morning with Prussia to meet with his boss, as they couldn't stay with their fellow nations at the house they borrowed for use any longer.

"There, that should do it." England set a box of dried food in the wagon. "We'll restock once we cross the channel."

America stroked the neck of one of the horses. It was a mare with a chestnut brown coat. It snorted at him and shook its head.

"You've been good horses, pulling us across Europe. Wish we could take you with us across the Atlantic but… you'd probably hate that."

Russia crossed the yard and came to stand near America. He was dressed in his usual outfit, thick military coat, old dark pants, military boots and scarf. A large bag hung from one shoulder.

"I must leave before the sun gets too high in the sky." Russia handed his TT-30 to America, exchanging it for the magnum revolver. Taking the new gun, Russia holstered it in his belt. "Until we can determine if the telegraph wire across the pacific is still in working order, expect long delays between telegrams."

America nodded. "Guess…it'll be a few years?"

Russia nodded in turn. "Da."

Disappointment filled America. _We've been together so much this past year… being able to wake up and seeing him every morning was…nice._

"No, it will only be a year." England came to stand beside them. "The last G8 summit was supposed to happen in America in 2012. Thanks to the flash and the mess after…it has only been delayed."

"I…what?" America turned to face his elder brother. "You think that's…best right now? I mean, considering how bad everything still is and-"

"We're not doing this for ourselves. We're doing this so we can show the world, and the aliens that are still in it, that we are not going to let them change what we had." England stated, his voice firm with conviction. "We won't let our fear of them prevent us from gathering together in one place, so we can discuss the issues and problems we face as a global community." England turned to America. "Do you agree?"

America smiled. "Yeah. I think we should meet." America glanced to his brother, who smiled and nodded in agreement.

"I agree as well." Russia stated with a nod.

"This will allow us to regain our perspective on the world's issues, instead of focusing on our own." France came to stand beside England. "And I am sure Germany and Italy will also agree."

"Good." England turned back to America. "Once you are able to rejoin your boss, telegraph us the location and we will plan to meet in two years, given the longer travel times now." Sending a glance to France, England climbed into the wagon.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Canada pulled out a thick set of folded letters, and came to stand before Russia.

"Ah- Ivan…if you don't mind...?" Canada handed the letter's to him. "Could you give these to Katya?"

Russia took them, staring at the letters for a moment before sliding them into his pocket. "Of course."

Canada smiled, sighing in relief. "Thank you. I'll try and send her a telegraph when I get back home."

Russia nodded. Canada turned away and went to sit in the back of the wagon with Nevada.

"You have my magnum?" America asked, crooking an eyebrow. "That thing is my baby, so treat it well. Got it?"

Russia smirked. "Of course…and treat my own side arm with care?"

America nodded. "As if it were my own."

They stared at each other for a long moment, before America turned away and climbed into the wagon. England cracked the reins, and the wagon rumbled down the trail through the meadow grasses.

Russia stood and watched them disappear into the trees, France coming to stand beside him. They were silent for a time, before France released a with-held sigh with a shake of his head.

"They are so alike, not even a hug or a good bye kiss. Just a look, and then they are gone." France glanced to Russia, eyes narrowing with sly suspicion. "But...we are used to this, no?"

Russia hummed, the corners of his mouth tugging upward into a smirk. France allowed a small chuckle to escape before reaching down to shrug his own pack across his shoulders. France waved, saying goodbye in his native tongue, and turned in the direction of his home. Russia did the same, the two parting.

"I will see you in two years then?" France called from a distance.

Russia nodded, and turned to glance back at him.

"Two years."

* * *

Four Months Later

America and Nevada stood before Canada, just outside a small coastal town in Quebec.

"Well…we made it." Canada cast an eye on his homeland. "For a while there…I thought I'd never see this again."

"Yeah…" America smiled. "It's nice to be back."

Canada turned to focus his gaze on his twin before crossing the distance between them and wrapped his arms around him in a warm hug. America returned the hug with a grin.

"I know we'll meet again before the two years but…be careful, alright?" Canada sighed. "Just…think before you act on something."

"Yeah, yeah." America chuckled. "Your starting to sound like Arthur."

"I mean it, Alfred." Canada pulled away, glaring. "Just because the aliens don't have technology doesn't mean they won't use our own. There's still a _lot_ of them, and they're scattered all over. Be _careful_."

"We'll watch after him, Matthew." Nevada reassured with a grin. "Me an' the states'll keep an eye on 'im and make sure he don't do nothing reckless."

Canada raised an eyebrow, obviously not convinced, but gave in with a sigh. "I just don't want to get a telegraph with news of you being in a hospital or something from being impulsive."

America laughed and slapped a hand on Canada's back. Canada jerked at the hard slap, wincing slightly.

"Seriously bro, I'll be _fine_." America grinned, oblivious to Canada's pain from the hard hit. "Keep in touch, okay? I'm sure we'll be working together on getting rid of these aliens…and I'll probably be down south with the war effort."

"Of course." Canada twisted his shoulder, favoring it slightly. "Safe travels…and good luck."

"Thanks." America picked up his pack and shrugged it over his shoulders. "I'm sure you and I both will need it."

"See ya, Matthew." Nevada waved goodbye, smoking cigarette in hand, turned and started down the paved road.

America raised a hand in farewell.

"Hágoónee'."

Canada grinned, and returned the gesture.

"Tavvauvutit."

* * *

_Next Update/Part: Two years pass, and America is focusing on the war effort at his southern border he shares with Mexico. The aliens have stolen their military technology from before the flash and are now using it against them, compounding the war effort. America returns to his newly rebuilt capitol to organize the G8 summit meeting. _

A/n: Forgive me for my lateness D: The smut scene eluded me for a long time until I just forced myself to sit down and write it out. Hope you guys liked it D: How do you amazing author-nons write great emotional scenes? T-T Also, this part/chapter is over 16,000 words. Holy shit.

Extra Notes(If any of this is wrong, please don't hesitate to tell me!)

**Russian**

До́ктор Жива́го = Dr. Zhivago [wiki] "…is a 20th century novel by Boris Pasternak, first published in 1957. The novel is named after its protagonist, Yuri Zhivago, a physician and poet. It tells the story of Zhivago's life and how it is affected by the Russian Revolution of 1917 and the subsequent Russian Civil War." It was also adapted into an amazing movie by David Lean. If you haven't seen it yet, GO WATCH IT. (I haven't seen the new remake of the movie, but I was told it's more true to the original book...but having seen the original by David Lean, I am biased D:)

**French**

Mon Chou = My dear/sweet/etc. Literally it means "my cabbage", but this is meant as an endearment. I think I read somewhere that the word for cabbage originally was used for something sweet? But over time it was used for cabbage, but the term stuck.

Mon petit diable = My little devil

C'estmoi, Francis. Baisse ton arme. = It's me, Francis. Put that gun down.

On n'ypeutrien = That can't be helped

Tu nous manquesaussi, Francis = We miss you too, Francis. [This was translated by someone from France, not from Canada. I hope this is okay? Dx]

To apres me manqué = We missed you (Louisiana Creole, not Haitian Creole) [I got this from a word-reference forum so I'm not exactly sure about this]

**Native American Language(s)**

Hágoónee' – (Navajo) Farewell/Goodbye

Tavvauvutit – (Inuit) Farewell/Goodbye to an individual


	26. Chapter 25 Part 2

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & mature themes.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

Note: So…this chapter is a little more than 20,000 words. I seriously considered chopping this in half, making the entire chapter (25) four parts, but…I held off. Hopefully this isn't too much? X.x;

* * *

Southern Mexico/Early Morning

"The line's breaking, hurry!"

America jammed the shell into the canister, locked it shut, stepped back and pulled the firing plug on the world-war two era artillery gun. A deafening explosion followed, and America jerked open the door, took the shell from a woman who stood next to the box of containing said shells. America shoved the shell in place, locked it, and pulled the firing plug once more.

Surrounding them was a combination of the Mexican and American artillery squadrons, all firing at a heavily fortified building the aliens controlled. The air was filled with the deafening sound of explosion after explosion, the shrill shriek of the shells as they streaked through the air and slammed into the building with a ball of flame.

Directly beside his gun was Mexico, dressed in a military uniform, her wild black hair tied back into a ponytail as she reloaded her gun re-aimed and fired.

A red flare suddenly appeared in the dark, early morning sky, signaling the bombardment to a halt. Silence filled the void left behind from the cannons. A shrill ringing flooded America's ears.

"Alfred…-Alfred, **Alfred**!" Maria's voice came from his right. America turned and found her staring at him. "Are you ready for the charge?"

A slow grin stretched across his face. Maria smirked back at him in response and held her hand out. America took it and together they clenched their hands, both looking forward to the assault.

"I'm ready."

* * *

America limped into his tent after spending a solid month fighting in rural southern Mexico. The forward assault was a huge success, with the aliens being pushed back through central America and down into the southern continent. The combined forces were still down there, but America had to come back to fulfill a promise.

_A promise to get the G8 meetings up and going once again._

He'd spent months in preparation for the meeting. Making sure caterers could be there for food, and that there was a building large enough for their purposes, a building that had a chalkboard – intact – and making sure he had chalk for said board. Furniture was built for the occasion, including eight chairs, two tables, and a podium. Pencils and paper were being prepared for the event, thanks to the insistence of his boss.

Collapsing to his bedroll, he pulled his feet up and slid his boots and socks off. Thick callouses covered the bottoms of his feet, wounds long scabbed over and healed into crisscrossing scars…scars that seemed so familiar to the same ones Russia had adorning his neck. He lay back on the thick wool blanket, ignoring the rocky bumps jabbing into his back and legs. Reaching over, he pulled out a leather bound journal his boss had given him upon his return to the states. Flipping through the pages, he thought back on years that had passed since he left Europe.

After leaving his brother, he'd immediately headed for his boss. After reaching her in Kansas, Nevada left for his own home, having been gone for far too long and wishing to get back to work. America felt sad at him leaving, but resigned himself to fight that lay ahead. Already the aliens were being pushed to his southern borders, and it was only be a matter of time before his boss, and Mexico's boss, organized the combined effort of their military forces to fight the invaders. With the military slowly re-establishing itself, the civilians focused on rebuilding. Large swatches of farmland sprouted across the country, roads were cleaned of debris and freight trains growing in number as people grew to rely on them more often. Industries were slowly returning, farmers, wood cutters, butchers, leather makers, seamstresses and dozens of other professions growing in number. Small towns that were once a mere dot in the landscape were growing into the future cities of tomorrow…as the grand cities of the past were still highly radioactive.

As the economy grew, so too did America's strength. The ache was still there, buried in his chest…but it was lessened now. The pain of loss growing smaller as the aliens were pushed back and killed off. News from the wires came at a regular rate. The success America was having seemed to be the same that those in Europe, Africa, Asia and Oceania were having as well. England had finally heard from Australia and New Zealand, and it seems he didn't have much to worry about after all. The two of them were fine and had already killed off every single alien that remained in their lands, something that was repeated in the other nearby countries. Only the large forces that occupied former human military bases remained, using human weapons in place of their own useless technology.

Russia was doing very well, even better than America it seemed. He'd had no trouble killing off a great many of them before General Winter took care of whoever remained.

America frowned at the thought of the elder nation. He'd tried wiring him a few times – as sending letters was virtually impossible due to the incredibly long wait times – but he'd never gotten an answer back. With only silence as his response, America couldn't help but feel disheartened. _He's busy, we're all busy… it makes sense. Especially now…_ He kept these thoughts ever prevalent in the back of his mind, but as the days turned to months, and the months turned to years…America couldn't help the feeling of forgotten isolation creep up his spine and fill his chest. Canada answered his wires. England and France answered his wires. Hell, even _Japan _answered his wires, even if it took a few weeks. Only Russia remained silent.

_Is he angry at me?_ America couldn't help but feel. _Did I do something to cause this?_

But Russia was never one to remain silent for very long if he was angry. America knew this, had _experience _with this.

_If something happened, I would have heard about it by now…_

America closed his eyes and sighed.

_I miss him…Fuck I miss him so much._

It was like the burning ache in his chest, only worse. It squeezed his heart and remained there for weeks on end, its grip only increasing as time passed by. America punched at the tightly rolled up pillow and readjusted his position on the ground, making sure the rock missed the right side of his back.

_Do you miss me too, Ivan?_

He closed his eyes and though of the long train ride that lay ahead of him tomorrow.

* * *

Western Virginia - Town Hall building

Texas, a teenager looking a few days shy of turning 17 – with sun-tanned skin, dirty-blonde hair and pale-blue eyes – stood up abruptly, his wooden chair scraping against the carpet before clattering to the floor. He wore a well-used, blue button-up shirt, blue-jeans, and cowboy boots.

"I already told you we can't stop!"

Kansas stood a few seats away. She was just as tan, only her hair was brown and cut short to her shoulders. She wore pants that were cropped to the knee with a white button-up shirt.

"All you care about is making a profit!" She also stood up and slammed a fist to the table. "Why can't you understand this? My land is drying up from lack of farming! If you keep driving your cattle up and down my land it's only going to get worse!"

"I'm already paying you in money, what more do you want?"

"Um..." Oklahoma meekly raised a hand. "Don't I have a say in this?

"To find another way to get to my rail stations! A way that doesn't stomp over my farmland!" She shouted back in return, overpowering Oklahoma's question. "And another thing- stop cutting through my barbed wire! It's there _for a reason_!"

Before Texas could respond, America slammed a fist on the table.

"Alright- alright! I think I've heard quite enough!" America rubbed at his throbbing left temple. "Obviously this situation won't be resolved before the end of this last meeting-"

Kansas and Texas immediately started shouted.

"You can't keep pushing this aside-!"

"I won't take no for an answer-!"

America picked up his empty glass and rapped it against the table until the two states were silenced.

"Look, this situation is something that is going to take time. We need the cattle and we need the farmland." America tried speaking in a calm, rational tone. "I'd love to solve this now, but the other states haven't gotten their turn yet."

Several states agreed with loud declarations. Kansas collapsed to her chair with an angry huff, crossed one leg other the other and proceeded to glare at America. Texas merely picked up his chair and made himself comfortable, expecting the meeting to go on for several more hours.

"Now… I know I haven't gone over the south-west yet-" America shot a glare at California before she opened her mouth to speak, silencing her with a look. "But I believe Alaska has something important to share with us?"

Alaska sat beside Hawaii, his pale body seeming huge beside her tiny sun-kissed frame. His clothing was hand stitched, his pants a dark brown, shirt a gray-blue. His thick black hair was styled very similar to Russia's own platinum-blonde locks, his skin still snow-white despite the heat of the summer sun. Despite looking almost exactly like Russia, he had America's blue eyes and head-strong personality. The boy was the youngest out of the group, second only to Hawaii. The other states turned to stare at him, some looking curious, others looking bored, the rest annoyed he got to speak before them.

"I…" Alaska's voice trembled slightly at the surge of attention focused at him. He took a calming breath and picked up a few sheets of thick, handmade paper. "I have some…bad news. Regarding the invaders."

America felt his heart clench with sympathy at Alaska's nervousness, but kept his mouth zipped shut. The boy was proud and stubborn, he'd never forgive America if he coddled him in front of the other states. The full strength of Alaska's words hit America in the chest when the other states in the room gasped with surprise.

"I've been documenting the invader's movements, plans and events for the past couple years now…and I believe the aliens have a massive military base at the Diomede islands."

America frowned. "You told your boss and sent it to the head?"

Alaska nodded. "I sent everything before I left."

"A large military base is nothing if they have nothing to defend it." Nevada reasoned, cigarette dangling from between his lips as he spoke. "It should be a cinch killin' 'em."

"It's worse than that." Alaska sorted through his papers, drawing up a sheet with several statistics. "From what the coastal fishermen have been telling me, the aliens have been towing human military vehicles, supplies, airplanes, jets, construction vehicles and supplies, food and water… they said it looked like a combination of America, Canadian and Russian from what was painted."

"Are you serious?" Nevada carefully withdrew the cigarette from between his lips stuck it out the window directly to his right and shook off the ash. Turning, he blew a puff of smoke in California's direction, earning a glare and a shove with her fist.

"It gets worse." Alaska continued. "After I was able to kill off the remaining aliens on the continent, I went inside the military bases. They were gutted. _Stripped_. There was absolutely _nothing _left."

The states all stared at him, a deafening silence flooding the room.

"We estimate that…there might be tens of thousands of alien's dug in on the islands."

America stood and slammed his glass to the table. "This meeting is over. If you have anything you still wish to speak to me about, leave a letter."

Curling a finger at Alaska, America waited at the door for the young state to reach him before he exited the room. The two stormed down the hall until America opened a door to a smaller conference room. Alaska followed him inside, where America shut the door and locked it.

"Tens of thousands of aliens?" America repeated, slack-jawed. "And they're using _our _weapons and supplies?"

Alaska nodded, frowning deeply.

"Shit… I'll have to bring this up at the G8 meeting tomorrow." America bit his bottom lip in thought. "I'll need all of your information so I can throw a presentation together tomorrow. I might even have you present this."

Alaska nodded, a thin smile stretching across his face. America peered at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Is there something you wanted to say?"

"I…yeah." Alaska stated with a rush of air. "I do want to say something."

Stepping back, America leaned against a nearby table and crossed his arms over his chest. Alaska coiled the thick paper in his hands and twisted it nervously.

"I…" Alaska stuttered, but gained strength and resolve. "I want to be in the first assault on the Diomede islands."

"You what?" America asked, eyes narrowing.

"You and Ivan are going to attack the islands, right? I _know _you. You'll talk about it tomorrow and an attack will be planned out. I want to be in that attack!" Alaska took a confident step forward, but his eyes pleaded with America. "I want to fight!"

"No." America's response was immediate. "No way."

_I can't watch my states fight again. Can't see them in the thick of battle, guns blazing, bullets tearing through their flesh, feeling their pain and anguish as they fell, fearing they might never wake up again…_

"What!" Alaska cried, mouth dropping. "Why?"

"Because I don't want you getting hurt."

"But I'm immortal like you! I can't die!" Alaska pleaded. "Plus who cares if I get hurt? I'll only heal right away! Just like you!"

"You don't know that." America glared at him. "You are not a nation. You are a _state_."

"One of those island's is mine!" Alaska declared. "I have a right to take it back!"

"This is _not_ something to debate, Alaska!" America reeled on him, uncrossing his arms and taking a step closer to the state. "This is something that involves _Russia and I_, not you!"

"It's a **part **of me!" Alaska challenged desperately. "I have a right to defend my own land, don't I!"

America fisted the front of Alaska's shirt and shoved him into the wall. "I won't have another _state of mine_ fighting on the front lines!" He shouted, eyes blazing with anger and an underlying fear. "I _won't_…I **can't **go through that again, Alex."

The scar running down America's spine flared with heat at the memory of his civil war, something that still gave America nightmares, despite it being over a hundred years since the conflict. He collapsed against the wall and slide to the floor, his head fell back and pressed against the wall.

"Dad…" Alaska knelt beside him. "I know how you feel about that…but it won't be like the past! It'll be different-"

"It won't." America sighed. "It's the same. War never changes."

"I know that." Alaska frowned. "But you have to trust me, Dad. I won't get hurt. I'll be fine! Just please let me-"

"No."

"But-!"

"I said _no_, Alex!" America growled. "Put those papers on the table and leave!"

"But…but Dad, please-"

"Leave, Alex."

"Dad, if you just _listen-_"

"Go away!" America shouted, hot tears filling his eyes. "Leave!"

Alaska's serious face melted away and for the first time his true, childish youth revealed itself. His lower lip trembled for a second before he bit it and jumped to his feet. Sniffing noisily, he flung the papers to the table and stormed out of the room.

America pressed both hands to his face and sighed.

* * *

America jerked the reins of his painted mare, bringing the slow trot to a halt. Sliding off the saddle, he adjusted the leather gun holster that hung from his right hip and pulled the horse to a makeshift barn he set up. After cleaning and brushing the animal, making sure she had water and something to eat, he left the barn and stared at the remains of his Virginian home. The same home he'd been in during the flash. The same home he'd spent those first dark months in after re-awakening, feeling the excruciating pain filling his body, touching every nerve ending as if something were flaying the skin from his flesh.

America swallowed audibly and started towards the section of his home that was cleared of debris. It used to be the kitchen, with marble counter tops, a porcelain sink, cupboards filled with canned goods…but everything was gone. Only the tile floor remained, albeit chipped and shattered in many places, the rosy, off-white color could still be seen. He sighed, not having the strength to continue clearing away the destruction after an emotionally taxing day, stepped out of the kitchen and went around the house to where Mr. Whale was buried…or what was left of him that America could find. Directly beside it was a tiny memorial dedicated to Tony. It was a only a piece of wood with his name written on it that stuck out of the ground, but America set it in a patch of wild flowers, in hopes of making it more official.

_When things get better, I'll make a nicer one. After everything he did, it's the least he deserves._

He turned around and found the one person he never expected to see before the meeting. The one person he'd telegraphed and waited months for an answer that never came.

"…Ivan." America exclaimed, eyes wide with surprise.

Russia stood before the grave and memorial, hands shoved into his pockets, the tails of his scarf fluttering about his feet. He wore a hand-made suit of dark, earthy colors. Slowly, he turned his gaze to America and regarded him with a lazy, critical eye.

"Privyet, Alfred." Russia greeted.

"Why didn't you answer my telegraphs?" The words tumbled from America's mouth before he realized what he was saying. "I waited and waited and… " America snapped his mouth shut, having spilled as much of his true feelings as he felt comfortable with, and glared at him.

"Please understand, much of my people…still do not have electricity." Russia turned and crossed the distance between himself and America. "The invader's destroyed hundreds of kilometers of telegraph line before winter set in as well. I did not pick up your telegraphs until I arrived back in Moscow, just before I left for this meeting. I tried sending you letters, but it seems…that they never came."

"I…oh." America turned red-faced with shame. _Much of my internal infrastructure is close to being repaired…Russia is still struggling to rebuild, due to his vast land. I am such an idiot for being angry at him…for being worried…_

A large, calloused hand cupped America's left cheek, forcing him to look upward into Russia's smirking face.

"You were angry at me for not responding?"

"What do you think?" America spat, shoving his hand away and turned around, arms crossing over his chest. "I thought you were pissed at me. I thought… something happened to you."

"…Oh?" Russia slid his hands over America's shoulder's and squeezed. "You were worried about me?" Russia's voice hitched hopefully. "You were worried I was injured…or something worse?"

America pulled away, blushing down his neck and up to his ears. Two large hands circled his waist and tugged him back around to face him. America, unable to help himself anymore, threw his arms around the elder nation in a fierce hug. Russia returned the embrace with interest and rested his cheek against America's head, reveling in the soft touch of his wheat-blond hair.

"I…" America mumbled into Ivan's chest, cheeks burning. "I missed you, Ivan."

Russia smiled into America's hair, and grazed his lips across America's forehead, earning a shudder from the younger man.

"As did I."

* * *

The Next Day

America nervously shuffled the papers - painstakingly hand written - at the front podium and looked at the empty room. A long, round table stood before him with chairs situated around it. Stacks of paper and a single pencil for each chair were in place. Turning around, he found the huge green chalk-board in place against the wall, stacks of used pieces of chalk sitting at either end.

"Okay…okay, gotta make sure the refreshments are in place.."

America turned around and found Canada standing in the doorway, old, frayed leather briefcase in hand.

"Mattie!" America exclaimed, eyes wide. "You're early!"

Canada smiled and stepped forward, setting his belongings on the table.

"Couldn't sleep last night, so…I just got up early." Canada crossed the room, halting just before his brother. "How have you been?"

"Busy, but good." America grinned and threw his arms around his twin. "Damn I missed you!"

"It has been a while since we've seen each other." Canada chuckled and returned the hug, withdrawing after a moment. "I…heard the reports. About that base at the Diomede islands."

"Yeah, that's one of the main topics today." America sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose where his glasses rested. "I have a feeling it will all be bad news."

Canada hummed an agreement, frowning slightly as worry lines creased in his forehead.

"Well, I gotta go check on a few things so I'll be back in a bit." America started for the door, but paused when he grasped the brass handle and turned back. "Pencils and paper are provided, bathroom is down the hall, last door on the right. Alex should be coming in soon."

Canada nodded and turned to his briefcase. America left the room in a rush and exited the building, crossing the wild-grassy lawn to the building next door. A smoky chimney stood at one side of the red brick building. America stepped inside a small side door and entered a large kitchen. People filled the space, many simply assistants in preparing the food, a few chefs cooking the prepared food, and the head chef supervising the entire operation, cutting in momentarily to provide advice or fix something. America went directly to the head chef and interrupted him with a quick apology.

"Where is the water for the meeting?"

"Ah-" The man turned and started towards a set of huge oak cupboards. "The jugs are in here. We managed to salvage some glass cups for you to use."

"Aw great!" America grinned. "I was wondering about that… I mean, I'd use the wooden ones no problem, but…I wanted to make a good impression on everything."

"Of course." The head chef nodded in understanding. "We also just got the Rum shipment in from Louisiana today."*

"Yes!" America cheered, thousand watt smile shining in full force. "Ruth came through for us!"*

_I'll definitely have to thank Louisiana for this later._

"The food will be ready by one o'clock. It will be served in the room you showed me?" The head chef asked. "I just want to be sure."

"Right, same room as before." America nodded, confirming the original decision. "I gotta run back to the meeting, everyone should be arriving soon."

"Ah-! Wait just one moment." The chef turned to another cupboard, one that held a large lock. He pulled a key from the pocket in the white cotton uniform he wore and unlocked the cupboard, withdrawing a tin with a plastic lid. "I have been keeping this tucked away for some time now…but after I found out about you and the others…well… I think it will go to good use now."

The chef pulled out a tiny tin can that was colored a pale brown. Cursive lettering done from before the flash spread across the front – "Twinings of London: Earl Grey Tea"

America's eyes widened. "Is this… loose tea?"

_I'm not much of a fan of tea, but still… actual "loose leaf" tea?_

The chef nodded. "I used to drink this all the time, back before…everything happened. I've been saving it ever since, but now…well…"

"You…don't have to do this." America pushed the tin can back to the head chef. "Honest, you-"

"This is a special occasion, right?" The chef gripped America's hand and gently placed the tin on his palm. "Besides, I just saw freshly made tea bags at the store the other day. This stuff is probably very stale by now…but it still holds that good flavor I love." The head chef turned and picked up a large metal kettle that was beginning to hiss loudly. "Besides, I already made a batch."

America laughed, but took the kettle regardless. "I guess I don't have a choice then…oh, by the way…" America thought of England and his strict manner in making tea. "You wouldn't happen to have fresh milk, would you?"

The man smirked, and motioned to a nearby glass jug, half full of fresh milk collected earlier in the morning.

* * *

"How in the world did you get loose tea?" Canada gaped open mouthed at the tin. "Do you realize how much this could go for in the markets?"

America grinned and set the hot kettle on an equally warm window sill. Turning, he placed the jug of milk, along with tea cups and spoons nearby.

"Got it from one of my chefs." America sighed and stepped away, peering at the set up. "Arthur likes milk in his tea, right?"

"Yeah." Canada stepped up to stand beside his brother. "…I wish we had fresh coffee."

"Don't remind me." America groaned. "With all the fighting still going on, it's been impossible to import fresh coffee…but with tea coming back into the market…I could make my southern sweet tea."

"Mm yeah." Canada smiled. "Your sweet tea isn't half bad."

A sudden knock came from the door, and Russia stepped inside, followed by a bleary eyed China.

"Nǐ hǎo…" China yawned and stepped towards the table. "Ah- forgive me. I am still recovering from the long journey here. I had to come in place of Japan due to rough sea's and the aliens."

"Da. We had the longest travel times." Russia agreed and found a spot at the table. "Privyet, Alfred and Matthew."

The twins both nodded and greeted the two elder nations in turn. It only took a second for them to smell the fresh tea.

"Is that… tea?" China asked, eyes widening. "We have just started getting _Long Jing _back in the markets…but I have been traveling for months, and haven't been able to brew any."*

"Ah- yeah. It was loose leaf in a can, from before the flash, so the flavor might be stale-"

"It will still taste well." Russia reassured, eyes gazing at America intimately.

"Well…good." America quickly turned away so the others wouldn't see his darkening cheeks, and grabbed the kettle from the window sill. Vivid memories from the night before rushed through his mind, all of warmth, kisses, soft touches and more. Taking a deep breath to settle himself down, he turned back and placed the kettle on the table.

Canada took a seat and was just pouring himself a cup when the remaining nations finally stepped inside the room. Germany and Italy came in, the first wearing a freshly pressed black suit and immaculately groomed. Northern Italy followed directly behind him, wearing a stylish blue pin-stripe suit. England and France followed closely behind, bickering in the usual manner about something non-important. Everyone took a seat, and quickly poured themselves cups of coffee. England's serious glare softened at the milk jug, and he glanced to America, a tiny grateful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he awkwardly turned away to prepare his tea.

America crossed the room to the podium, shuffled his papers a bit and stalled for time.

_Come on Alex, where are you?_

He pulled a large, ancient looking brass pocket watch from his coat pocket and checked the time. _He was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago!_

Stepping away from the podium, he walked to the window and peered outside. Tall oak trees stood in the grassy, untamed lawn. The wild grasses grew knee high, with wild flower patches randomly sprinkled around the lawn. A huge building – the stables – stood nearby, housing the horses and wagons belonging to everyone here at the meeting and the people in the surrounding, newly built government buildings.

A horse suddenly came into sight through the distant trees and pounded to a halt before the stables. Alaska jumped down from the horse, wearing the same outfit from yesterday. Dark brown pants, sprinkled with light brown specks of dust and dirt from the hard gallop down the road, with a blue-grey long-sleeved shirt, top button left open, revealing a patch of pale skin. Securing an old leather bag around his shoulder's, he shouted something at the stable boys that came rushing out to care for the black stallion horse, and sprinted across the meadow-like lawn to the building America was in.

Sighing in relief, America turned around just in time to have Alaska crash through the door, gasping loudly.

"Sorry-…I'm late!" The boy exclaimed, his midnight-black hair tangled and sticking to his sweaty forehead and neck. "I…ah-…over slept." The boy blushed at his admission, and peered at America apologetically.

"Well you're here now so take a seat." America stepped up to the podium and nervously shuffled his papers again.

The other nations peered at the boy curiously as he crossed the room and sat in America's chair beside Canada. Russia peered at the boy, running a critical gaze over him before his expression softened with silent relief at the boy's good health.

"Alright, so… let the first day of the 2019 G8 meeting begin." America exclaimed, and picked up a piece of paper that held the summary for the days current topics. "I took the topics we covered in the last meeting we had in Germany and set them for today. First topic will be regarding the captured Nations. According to the intelligence I have received from Mexico and Canada –" America nodded at his brother. "– the nations that were captured in North America, Central and South America have all been freed and returned to their respective homes. What of the others?"

"All captured Nations in Europe have been released." Germany stated with his tell-tale serious voice. "I believe the same goes for the African continent and the Arabian Peninsula?"

Northern Italy frowned, looked through his papers for a moment before withdrawing one with a smile. "Ah- _Si_. All have been released."

"It is the same for the Asian continent, and those of Oceania, respectfully." China explained. "And as an off-hand note, Australia wished me to mention that telegraph communications should be repaired within the end of the year."

England breathed a visible sigh of relief, while the others made mutual sounds of positive agreements and compliments.

"With that, we will continue onto the next topic." America pulled the first paper away and shuffled it under the pile. _So far so good. No arguments…yet. _"Food and agriculture. Last time we met, it was speculated that there would not be enough food to last through last year, but that was proved wrong."

"Due to the aliens falling back, more farmland was saved from destruction." France explained. "But the harvest for the last two years has been...poor. Further helping the increased demand for food."

"It is the same for myself…and China." Russia added, glancing to China, who nodded in agreement, before turning back to the group. "The harvests for the last couple years are poor, due to the destruction – physical destruction and in irradiated land – left by the aliens."

"I also must mention that with larger numbers of our troops fighting across greater distance, the demand for food munitions will increase." Germany added, shuffling through his own papers for a moment before pulling one out. "Demand for food munitions has increased by 47% over the last year alone. This doesn't include the demand for civilians."

"The rationing will have to continue." England insisted. "Those fighting the remaining alien forces need those extra supplies if they are to be any threat."

"I understand, but the rationing is already more severe than the levels for the last World War." France argued. "If we increase it anymore, then I fear the consequences will be extreme. The number of civilians dying from starvation is already exceeding 25%. A number that is unacceptable."

"Yes, but that number has _gone down_ since the signal was enacted." England countered, eyes narrowing. "Which means, that despite the severe rationing, civilian life is _improving_-"

"Something that will not happen any more if the ration levels increase!" France argued back. "You must see my reasoning, the troops on the front lines must make do with what they have."

England slammed an open palm on the table and stood, shouting. France retaliated against him with a witty counter assault. Russia and China shot their opinions in regarding the entire situation. Germany tried taking the neutral middle ground with Italy for support, while America, Alaska and Canada merely watched on in silence. The next two hours flew by in a blur of arguments and flaring tempers, mostly due from the long journey everyone took to arrive for the week-long series of meetings.

Noticing America glancing at his pocket-watch, Germany interrupted. "I believe Canada and America have been working on Trans-Atlantic shipments?"

"Yes." Canada quickly replied, already having the paper with the information ready in hand. "America and I finally finished building the first international shipping ports, and the first five ships were completed two months ago. We are also suffering from the same problem you are, with farmland destruction and irradiated land…but we were lucky, as our harvests have been much higher than expected due to the longer wet season we had. The excess raw food we have can be sent to those in need."

The group gave a collective sigh of relief.

"I believe the details of this will be worked out with our bosses." Germany stated in hopes of avoiding another future argument, while the others all nodded in agreement.

"We'll post-pone that topic for tomorrow." America stated, marking something on his paper before checking his watch. _Has it really been three hours? _"Hour break for lunch?"

The nations all agreed, many surprised so much time passed, and relaxed, falling into discussions with those around them. America left the room to let the cooks know it was time, but found the food was already waiting outside.

"Oh great!" America exclaimed with a relieved grin. "Just bring it in, they're waiting."

The assistants all nodded, and brought in the dishes. Most of the food was very similar to what might be served during America's thanksgiving feast, as the prepared food used many locally grown ingredients. Cranberry sauce, roasted wild turkey and striped bass fish, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and other smaller dishes followed before the cask of Rum was wheeled in. America took a seat beside Alaska and nervously played with his fingers while the nations looked in in surprise.

"This is…a lot of work." Matthew admitted. "You didn't have to do all of this, really-"

"WIt isn't what we normally have, as I had to make do with more local dishes... but I wanted it to be special, since it's the first G8 meeting since the flash." America explained. "…Ya know?"

The others grew silent at that thought, but quickly dissolved into relaxed conversation as they began to serve themselves and eat the hearty food. Halfway through the meal, the rum was poured, much to the happiness of England. The others took some as well, not preferring the taste but enjoying it all the same. Only Alaska didn't drink any rum, due to America refusing to let him drink anything.

"Why not?" Alaska exclaimed, frowning. "Ivan lets me drink when he visits me."

America shot Russia a dirty look, who merely narrowed his eyes, silently daring America to say anything.

"It's a special occasion, let the boy drink." England relented, pouring himself his second glass of rum. "I let you drink during special occasions."

"Not you too!" America glared. "I'm only trying to be responsible. It's bad enough Nevada smokes like a chimney-"

"Something my brothers and sisters tell me _you _used to do?" Alaska retaliated. "Come on, just a little shot?"

America waved him off with a frown, giving into the young states pleading.

"Oh _fine_." America leaned back in his chair. "Go ahead~…"

England finished off his second glass and chuckled smugly. "Not so easy, is it?"

"At least you don't have fifty of 'em."

* * *

After the food was cleared away, the meeting resumed.

"Alright… for the third topic, we discuss recent intelligence regarding the aliens and how it will affect the fight." America glanced to Alaska. "I'll let Alex take it from here."

Alaska breathed a shaky breath before standing with a few papers tightly clenched in his hands. America stepped away from the podium as Alaska stood to take it from him.

"Uh…" Alaska cleared his throat and raised his head to look at the group of nations, receiving encouraging looks from them. "After gathering intelligence from local sources, and documenting the alien's movements, plans and events for the past few years, I have discovered a huge alien base on the Diomede Islands in the Bering Strait."

The nations frowned, but kept silent and listened.

"From what my local fishermen and scouts have told me, the aliens are using military vehicles, air craft, jets, supplies, to defend the base. Much of it looks like a combination of American, Russian and Canadian owned."

"I knew it." Canada admitted suddenly. "I found many of my military bases and supply centers stripped of everything."

"It is the same for me." Russia stated. "Although I still do not have an accurate count on everything, what little numbers I do have indicate this."

The other nations also admitted similar happenings, many looking grim.

"Ah-…I…" Italy interrupted. "Romano and I noticed something similar on the southern island of Pantelleria in the Strait of Sicily."

"I also have found reports of a large alien base making use of one of my islands for the same purpose." China frowned. "It is heavily guarded. I expect it is where many of my military weapons, vehicles and supplies have gone."

"It is almost as if they were using it as a staging ground to launch the northern offensive." Germany reasoned. "But now that their technology is useless, they are now using what they can scavenge from us."

"Then we should stop them before they can get stronger." America insisted. "If we attack within before the end of the year, we'll have a chance to stop the last offensive plan the aliens can use."

"If we stop them now…then they will not be able to regroup with our own weapons." Russia agreed, while Canada nodded at America and Russia's statements.

"But that means dividing our military forces." England reminded them. "Our armies are already weak, if we divide them, then they can only become weaker."

"It is risky, but…" China frowned. "It is something that must be done. I agree with America and Russia. We must disable them quickly."

Germany and Italy nodded, but turned to England and France.

"The sooner we get rid of them, the better." France grumbled, distaste obvious in his voice.

"…Alright then." England agreed after a moment of thought. "Let's do this."

America grinned and went to sit in Alaska's seat, pulling out a world map for the nations to use. Alaska hung back, excitement building within him. The young state picked up his papers and clenched his fists around them, distorting and crinkling the stiff paper.

_I'm going to fight and there's nothing you can do to change my mind, Dad._

* * *

Late October – Bering Strait

America stood on the prow of the large sailing boat commissioned by his government. Spyglass in hand, he pulled Texas down to his chin and pressed the lens to his right eye. Two black dots, one larger than the other, appeared just over the foggy horizon. The two Islands stood side by side, bridging the border marking Russian and American water. The air was crisp and frigid, causing America to wrap nearly every surface of his body in blankets and scarves keep himself warm.

_Just another hour or two…and we'll start the mission._

It was something he, his brother and Russia had planned in conjunction with their bosses. The huge meeting lasted two weeks with long periods of angry tension from America and Russia disagreeing over a number of things. Canada often found himself an unwilling referee in these situations…but despite the complications, the two never came to blows, no matter how infuriated they grew with one another. Something that was far different from the arguments the two _used_to get into.

After the group finally came to a solid consensus, plans for preparation, supplies and time-tables were made. Due to long distance communication being difficult, a time-line was made for everyone to follow. This ensured the group that if telegraph wires went down due to weather, age, or to possible alien interference, the mission would still continue despite the lack of communication. Deals were signed, hands shaken, words exchanged and the nations returned home to prepare.

America immediately started traveling across the country, his main duty in gathering supplies – munitions, dried food, and gathering any kind of military gear regardless of its age and defects. Upon reaching Alaska by railroad, he met up with Canada and the two continued to prepare by participating in the training sessions, getting to know their recruits and also helping in gathering the people who were skilled in sailing and owned boats large enough to carry several people. As summer wilted into Autumn, the days grew shorter, and the nights longer. Winter was coming, and judging by the telegraphs America received from Russia, it was going to be even worse than the year before.

_General Winter must still be furious at the aliens for kidnapping Russia…_ America pulled the eyeglass away and set his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. _My summers have been especially brutal… it's almost as if the Earth itself is pissed at them for what they did to everyone._

Shivering, America collapsed the spyglass and stuffed it back into his pocket. He buried his face back into the scarf wound snugly around his neck and wiggled his toes inside the black leather boots he managed to scavenge on his travels up to Alaska. The infantry uniform he wore was several decades old, dating back to Vietnam. His shirt was long sleeved and covered by his thick, leather flight jacket. His pants held large pockets that was held up by a thick black belt. Pouches, a sheath for his hunting knife, holsters for his magnum revolvers, and ammo for the AK47 that hung from his right shoulder.

_Alex…_ America closed his eyes with a sigh and readjusted the woolen cap on his head. After months of Alex pushing against him to fight with him, the two finally broke out into a full blown argument. Harsh words were exchanged, objects thrown…but in the end, America put his foot down. The boy had left in anger, tears of frustration streaking down his face as he slammed the door behind him. _I hope you understand that I only did it to protect you. If anything were to happen to you in combat… no. I can't even think about it. And besides, it won't happen. I made sure of that._

"Ready?"

Canada's voice came from behind. America turned around and grinned despite the nervous excitement bubbling in his gut. His brother was dressed in similar attire, save for his large, high-powered rifle that hung across his back.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

His brother nodded in agreement, and stepped around him to peered through the thickening fog bank that surrounded the distant islands. "I'm glad we'll be together for our mission."

"Yeah, just like old times, right?" America chuckled and resisted the urge to lick his chapped lips. "When it was just you, Tony and I…and then Ivan joined us…"

Canada hummed, the corners of his lips tugging upward into a warm smile. "Yeah. At the time it was unpleasant, but now, looking back on that journey… I'm glad we decided to go with Ivan."

America shivered suddenly as a gasp of air escaped his lips with a hiss. "Y-yeah-"

"Matthew, Alfred!" A young Inuit boy came up to them, eyes wide. "The others called for you. I think that meeting is starting."

"Great!" America smiled thankfully at him and started for the large central cabin in the middle of the ship. "I'm freezing."

Canada followed, thanking the boy for letting them know. The twins soon disappeared below deck and entered the main cabin, where eight men and women were squeezed together. America and Canada stood beside Russia, who kept to the rear and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. He wore an army camouflage uniform of dark green and brown with a thick overcoat and a black cloth bandage surrounding his neck. A thick belt held various pouches and ammo, including a holster for his TT-30. A larger AK-47 hung by a black strap from his right shoulder. The room was almost stifling hot due to the large number of people. Russia tugged at his scarf as sweat began to glisten on his neck and rising up his hairline to his temples. America soaked in the heat like a gasping fish returning to water.

Seven other people stood in the room. Six of which were soldiers from the Russian, Canadian and America military, two from each country. Some were old veterans from wars of decades long past, others looking like they just got out of boot camp, their fresh faces glowing with excitement and apprehension. An ancient looking man stood at the front of the group, his face grizzled and gleaming eyes hard like two azure gems. A large piece of thick paper was nailed to the wall directly beside him, as tape and staples were practically non-existent now.

"All of you _should _have the mission memorized down to the last second by now, but I am required to go over it once more." The man stated with a slight Québécois accent. Raising his hand, he pointed to the larger Diomede Island. "Intelligence shows that this Island is where the head alien base of operations is. The full force of the combined military will be focusing on that Island. The smaller island isn't as developed as the other one, which is what our target will be." The man pointed to the tiny American village of Inalik. "This village has the only available entry point on the island, so expect there to be resistance when you first land. Stealth is first priority."

Canada nudged America at the man's last statement. America turned to his brother, frowned, and nudged him back.

"Due to the islands having a Tuya type mountain terrain, traveling up to the base will be tough. If you are detected in the village, climbing up the 40° cliffs will be impossible under fire. This is why stealth is top priority. Scale the walls, and from there, take out the remaining alien personnel on the island. Reports have shown there to be little alien presence."

The man finished the debriefing with pep talk, and dismissed the group. Everyone left the room to seek the frigid air from outside. America, Canada and Russia remained in the cabin.

"Nice…you were actually able to get a camo uniform?" America grinned. "Wish I was that lucky."

"A man was trading it for food for his family." Russia turned to him. "I traded it for double the food he expected."

"Same with me." Canada admitted. "I tried looking in a few army surplus stores, but they were looted already."

The three fell silent for a long moment as the weight of the upcoming mission slowly fell upon their shoulders.

"You know…I checked my telegraph messages just before I left Alaska." America started, his voice quietly confident in the large room. "A message dated a few days before came in, telling of the European's victory at Pantelleria. They said the defeat was easy…but they found a massive hidden basement below the base that was filled with enough stolen rocket warheads to equal a seven kiloton explosion."

Canada and Russia stared at him with wide-eyed surprise.

"Mixed in with the warheads were hundreds of massive tanks of pure chlorine and sarin gas…and forty 50 pound drums of sodium cyanide." America frowned. "With that level of a blast, it would've spread a toxic cloud over most of Europe, the Arabian Peninsula, and Africa, killing thousands."

"Chemical warfare…" Canada paled at the thought and crossed his arms over his chest. "They're growing desperate."

"We must expect to find something similar in larger base as well." Russia stated, voice deadly serious. "Do the military commanders know of this?"

America nodded. "Yeah, I checked with my superior before leaving Alaska."

"Good." Russia turned away and focused on the map of the islands nailed to the wall. "If a similar blast went off here…most of the chemicals would fall to the ocean."

"The currents would spread the chemicals all over the world…" A chill ran up America's spine. "Entire populations of wildlife would die off…and those surviving might be eaten, thus spreading the poison to humans…and then…" America swallowed, unable to go on.

_We can't let it happen. No matter what._

* * *

One Hour Later, Enroute to Inalik Village

The large speed boat they were in was outfitted with a large engine scavenged from other (bigger) ruined boats and armored with metal plating hammered together, as the electricity needed for welding wasn't readily available yet. The padded, lush seats in the boat were ripped out and replaced with lightweight wooden benches to allow for more people to fit in a small space. The front of the boat rocked and crashed against the rough ocean waves, salt water splashed and sprayed over the hastily constructed metal walls.

America sat with two men who managed to pass the training and requirements. One was born and raised in Alaska – named Jackson – a young medical student who'd just finished his internship before the flash happened. He was the group's only field medic. The other was an older man, named Shawn, who'd been wounded in Desert Storm – two bullets to the shoulder and leg - and was given an honorable discharge, living out the next twenty-four years of his life before the flash occurred. The other men with Russia and Canada were of similar backgrounds. Many either veterans from old wars or young, brand new recruits with little real experience. All of the men in the mission knew who Russia, Canada and America were, simplifying things if one of them was shot or killed. Russia sat directly across from him, his own soldiers sitting to his right, while Canada made up the rear. Each part of the group was trained and prepared so they worked together like a well-oiled machine.

The driver called out to them from the front.

"30 seconds!"

America pulled a pocket watch out from his chest pocket, checked the time and re-pocketed the watch. Russia stared at America and just by judging his face, knew that they were late. The attack on the bigger island had already started, thus ruining any chance of surprising the aliens.

The boat suddenly came to a halt. The driver turned around in his seat. "Too much ice! I can't chance it, not with this type of boat…I'll have to go in closer to the village."

America stared at Russia, and then glanced at Canada. They came to a silent decision.

"Keep going then." Russia decided. "If we have to land at the docks under heavy fire, then we land there. We can't go back now."

America gripped his rifle, and said nothing.

The engine revved up and the boat continued its long route around to the North-western tip of the Island. Minutes passed before the driver spoke again.

"Still too much ice…" He hesitated, nervous worry flashing across his face before it hardened. "You'll have to land at the village."

_Damn_. America kept his face from showing any concern. _We haven't even landed yet and already this mission is going wrong. That isn't a good sign._

"Then we land in the village." Canada stated firmly. "Intelligence showed very little activity in the area, so there might be very few aliens left on this island, due to the extreme cold temperatures."

America and Russia nodded in agreement and the driver continued until the boat rumbled to a halt and three, resounding thuds came from the hull.

Without any word, everyone stood and jumped out of the boat, landing in knee deep, freezing ocean water. Immediately America's legs went numb from the knee down. He ignored it and waded through the water, holding his rifle and other equipment above the water before stepping onto the rocky shoreline. His men, Russia and Canada's groups following. The moment everyone managed to get onto the rotted wooden docks, gunfire exploded from a two-story government building up the way.

Everyone took cover behind anything nearby, America's group hid behind a fishing boat, Russia's group behind a car in the street, Canada's behind a wall that separated the docks from the gravel and dirt street. Bullets showered them from multiple locations, glass exploded from various windows across the village.

"They waited for us, the bastards!" America growled.

Russia and Canada's groups managed to make it off the docks when the gunfire hit, Russia's group the furthest ahead. Canada caught his attention and signaled to provide cover fire to Russia's group. America motioned an affirmative and turned to his men. After a second, Canada and his men raised their weapons, America followed his lead and did the same, firing on the machine gun nest in the second story building, one hundred feet up the street.

Russia and his men sprinted up the street, dodging from abandoned cars and other debris left behind until they were directly under the window. Russia pulled a grenade, yanked the pin out and launched the projectile through the window and immediately crouched under cover for the resounding explosion. The ground trembled and smoke poured from the window as glass and wood splinters rained down.

"Alright let's go!"

America motioned to his men and together they ran up the docks to the street, crouching behind the car Russia was at when the attack first started as the boat they recently used for cover exploded in a ball of fire. Canada raced across the street, sliding to cover behind the opposite wall as bullets _plunked_at the rocky ground, trailing his every step. Up the street, Russia refocused his efforts on another machine gun nest, but came under heavy fire as other aliens from multiple . A shout erupted, and one of his men fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder.

"Go ahead Jackson, we'll give you cover fire." America spoke to the field medic.

"Right- okay." Jackson breathed shakily, pulled his helmet down, sucked in a breath and after America's signal, sprinted down the street, using whatever he could find for cover until he arrived at Russia's position. America followed close behind, stopping at another truck. America and Shawn fired short bursts into the window where the tip of a machine gun stuck out. The shots stopped for a second, and Russia took advantage of the pause, lobbing another grenade into the window. A smoky, debris filled explosion rocketed the building. Alien screeched sounded shortly after.

America motioned to Shawn, the veteran from Desert Storm, and together they rushed up to the building and pressed themselves to either side of the side door. America tried the handle, but it held fast, locked from the inside. Nodding one to Shawn, America kicked the door in and Shawn fired a three-shot burst through the doorway. One alien screeched and collapsed to the floor, rifle falling from its grasp and clattering to the floor. Before they went inside, America turned back to Russia.

"We'll clear this and head north!"

Russia nodded, motioned to the South and with a quick word to the older veteran of his group that was un-injured, moved across the street and entered the opposite building where the original MG nest was located. Distantly, America heard another explosion erupted to the East and further up the mountain.

_Must be Mattie. He's clearing the hillside then._

America and Shawn went into the building and checked room after room, each one taking turns on opening the door and spraying the room – if they found any aliens – with a short burst of gunfire to conserve ammo . Some rooms were empty, others held aliens hastily gathering ammunition and supplies. After clearing the first floor, they started up the stairs. The stairs were U-shaped, with one set going up, facing the wall, and then turning and facing the second floor. America went first, going up backwards and holding his rifle up and ready to fire at a moment's notice. America stopped at the bend, and kept his AK47 aimed at the top of the stairwell. Shawn went up second, rushing past America and up the stairs. Shawn gave the signal for _all clear_and they proceeded to check each room until the building was cleared. Picking up extra ammo they found for their guns that the aliens collected, they returned downstairs and exited the building, and continued North, going through each building until the only one left was the school. Shawn threw the back door open and America stepped inside the one room school house to find the remaining survivors of the village.

They lay heaped against the opposite wall. Their bodies contorted and collapsed over each other. All shot to death.

Long dried blood stained the wooden flooring and the pastel blue walls. The black board hung above them, still holding math problems from a lesson long forgotten. Artwork and projects hung stapled and taped to the walls. Desks were stacked and shoved to either side of the room. Windows were shattered, letting the wind, snow and spray of the ocean flow inside. America took a step forward and sucked in a wavering, halting breath. The air didn't hold the scent of death, that raw, pungent smell that slammed into your gut, so thick you could taste it. Only the smell of that raw, cutting Artic air filled the room. The bodies perfectly preserved in the frigid temperatures.

Shawn stepped inside the room, making a breathy, surprised noise behind America. America grit his teeth and stared at the carnage.

"They were defenseless." America growled, throat tightening with emotion. "They had no chance against them-"

A door from a storage closet at the far e4nd of the room exploded open, an Alien spilled out, clutching a rifle and screeching. Without thinking, America whipped his revolver out from his hips holster, cocked and fired a bullet through the aliens head, causing it to explode wetly. The alien collapsed to the floor.

America glared at it, cocked the hammer of his revolver and stared down the sights at the invader. Raw anger filled his chest like molten lead, boiling and bubbling hotly. He took a step forward, drawing closer to it when the anger was suddenly doused with something dark and cold. Something was wrong. He didn't know what or why…but something nagged at him…something painful, and full of discomfort…a distant pull at the center of his chest.

"We have to keep going." Shawn's voice came suddenly. "Come on- we have to-"

"Shut up." America said, voice wavering. "Just… something…"

Shawn stepped closer and remained silent.

_It has to be one of my states. Only they can make this feeling of __**wrongness**__…but who?_

"Who is it…" America whispered while closing his eyes and concentrating. "Who _is _it…?"

Gooseflesh covered his skin as a strong wind picked up off the ocean and flowed inside the room, dropping the temperature a few degrees. A whisper flowed over the breeze, an ancient, graveled voice worn down by time itself. It was powerful and strong, someone Someone who looked after all overs in his domain, but only held his deepest, protective instincts over Russia.

_Nukapiak_

America's eyes flew open.

"Alex."

"Who?" Shawn asked. "Alex?"

"We have to go back to the medic, right now."

America turned around and ran out of the building.

* * *

"Stopped the bleeding, patching you up…"

Alaska knelt before the younger Russian man and pulled out a cotton bandage. Pulling his clothing and protective gear aside, he removed the bloodied bandaged, tossing it to the rocky ground, and pressed the white cotton square to the wound. Reaching into his pack, he withdrew another cotton square, and did the same for the exit wound on the back of his shoulder. Finally, he wrapped the shoulder as best he could, given the combat conditions he was under, and tied it off firmly, but not too tightly.

The young man gave a quiet _spasibo _in return, and propped his back up against the abandoned car.

Picking up his rifle, Alaska swallowed thickly and patted himself down to make sure he had everything. _Dad has to know by now. _Alaska felt his chest tighten in dread as he thought of how furious America would be when he found out he disobeyed his orders to remain home.

Before he could think further, the Russian man jerked his side arm out and went to shove Alaska out of the way. The hand gun fired multiple shots, but a long, huge needle flew out from behind Alaska and planted itself into the Russian's chest. He grabbed at the needle to yank it out, but his movements grew sluggish. He raised the gun again, but struggled to keep it held aloft in the air. Alaska clutched his rifle and went to turn around when something sharp and long sunk into his back.

"Ah!" Alaska dropped the rifle and tried reaching back to jerk whatever it was out of his back, but something screeched in his ear and jerked him backwards into a small body. "Let _go _of me!"

The Russian man collapsed to the ground, eyes rolling up into his head.

"You bastard!" Alaska shouted, staring at the young man. "He'd better not be dead!"

"He's not dead." A rough, scratchy voice came. "Just sleeping…for a time."

The knife jerked out of his lower back. White-hot, excruciating pain shot up his spine. The knife suddenly plunged back into the same entry wound. Alaska cried out in pain, tears beginning to streak his face. Small hands grabbed at him and jerked him up to stand.

"You're going to do everything I say, or else."

The knife was torn from his back, earning another pained shout, where it was tossed to the ground. Before Alaska could move, a cold gun barrel was pressed to his temple.

"Care to find out if you can survive being shot in the head?"

Alaska swallowed, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

"Now hold this and don't say anything."

* * *

America came to a skidding halt behind the building adjacent to where Alaska stood. His arms were out stretched, a pained look on his face. In his hand was an L-shaped device, being held upside down. A silver trigger stuck out from the crook in the 'L' and was being tightly pressed by Alaska's quivering hand.

A black barrel of a gun was pressed to Alaska's right temple. Clutching the gun was an alien invader. The two of them wavered from foot to foot, moving just enough to prevent anyone from trying to shoot and kill the alien from afar.

"Come out, America!" The alien shouted, voice contorted and scratchy, unused to speak a human language. "I know your there!"

America gripped his rifle and ground his teeth together. Anger wedged itself in his chest, a tight, hot ball waiting to explode and take hold of him. He squeezed his eyes shut and silently cursed at his young state for not listening to him.

_Damnit Alex! Why'd you have to come and fight?_

"I have your precious state." The alien growled out, trying to raise his voice so it could be heard throughout the village. "Something that…you must protect, right?"

America pressed himself against the wall and forced himself to remain still, despite the overwhelming urge to rush out into the open, guns blazing.

"I will count down from ten. If you don't come out, I _will _shoot him in the head, understand? Ten!"

_I can't listen. I can't go out there… if I go out there he'll have me at a disadvantage._

"Nine!"

America thought of his brother and when he was captured…and how England had rightfully blamed him for his abduction. He could already hear England's fury from three years ago.

"Eight!"

_"-Because the __**last **__time you charged into something without a __**fucking **__plan, you got clubbed over the head and Matthew was captured! If you hadn't have charged into the woods blindly, Matthew wouldn't have followed."_

"Seven!"

_"You remember Alexei."_

_"That is different." Russia set his jaw and stabbed the fork through the cuts of rabbit meat and pieces of boiled vegetables._

_"Different?" America questioned. "Because of your influence? Because you once had him long ago?"_

_"Because he is like one of our own."_

"Six!"

America hit his head against the wall in frustration. _Damnit…damnit!_

"Five!"

_"Don't apologize." Canada's voice was soft. "You would do it again."_

"Four!"

_"One of our own?" America parroted. "You mean like…like a…__**son**__?"_

_"Not a son." Russia forced out, the muscles of his jaw working. "But…"_

_"Like one of our own." America repeated once more. "I never knew you felt so…so strongly about him."_

"Three!"

_"If you're state was in trouble like that…you would run after them again." Canada tilted his head, shooting a side-long glance at him. "That's how you were captured, wasn't it?"_

"Two!"

America opened his eyes, dropped his rifle to the ground and pulled out one of his magnum revolvers.

_I'm sorry Canada…England and Russia. But I can't let him shot Alaska. I…I don't know if he'll come back after such a traumatic injury...if I lost him because I didn't act…I'd never forgive myself._

Before the alien shouted the last number, America walked out, revolver held posed before him, aimed at the aliens head as he stepped out into the street.

* * *

America emerged from behind the building and stepped into the street, magnum revolver grasped tightly in his outstretched hand, sights set at the Alien's head.

_If only he weren't moving so much I could shoot him and finish this!_ America scowled at him, eyebrows knitting together and blue eyes shining in furious anger. He ran his eyes over Alaska's form, and caught sight of blood dripping from behind him to splatter across the loose gravel road. _He deserves more than a gunshot wound for daring to hurt my state._A wave of hate rolled through him as his protective instincts kicked in. His clenched the gun, knuckles turning white.

"I knew you would come out." The alien rasped, black eyes narrowing. "You do not think rationally when one of your family is threatened. I have seen it before."

"Your desperate if you think a hostage will save you." America growled through clenched teeth.

"I wanted to speak to you before I kill everyone on this island."

"Bullshit."

"You have not changed since I last saw you on that dying ship." The alien ground the gun barrel into Alaska's temple, earning a pained grimace from the boy. "Still an out spoken, naïve child."

America already had his mouth open for a smart-mouthed reply, but stopped. _Dying ship?_Before he could think further, the alien spoke up again.

"I am the nation you _thought_ was killed." The _nation_spoke slowly, relishing his announcement of survival. "You under-estimated me. You under-estimated my strength. My people have survived horrors you cannot comprehend."

"If you are so strong, why are we _chasing_your people to the equatorial regions?" America spat. "You're going to die eventually."

"You have no idea who you are messing with." The nation growled. "I have been alive for thousands of years…everything that could possibly have been done to me has already happened. Kill me here and I will only be reborn again. Hundreds of thousands of nations have said the same to me, and every single one of them was crushed under my power." The nation continued to weave back and forth, but kept his fierce gaze on America. "I have witnessed entire stars be devoured by black holes. I have seen attack ships on fire, off the shoulder of Orion. And you…with your pitiful, archaic technology have barely reached your satellite-"

"You mean slaughtered entire civilizations? Stripped their planets of any resources for your own well being?" America growled, feeling an old anger build up within him. "Our space exploration was for scientific, educational purposes. Those people you shot at the space station were _defenseless_."

The alien ignored him and continued to speak. "…and yet, despite the severe difference in technology…you still managed to find a way to break my network."

"You mean the signal?" America couldn't help the smirk that grew across his face. "I'll never tell."

The alien hissed and screeched in fury. Alaska winced at the ear splitting sound being emitted so close to his eardrums.

"Let him go."

"I should kill him…kill him in the same manner that your brother killed me-" He stopped talking abruptly in mid-sentence. Hissing again, he bore the gun barrel into Alaska's temple even harder. "Don't think I can't hear you!" The alien shouted. "I know you are invisible…but I can hear you. And if you take _one_ more step- I **will **pull the trigger." The alien smirked. "This is a semi-automatic weapon. All I have to do is pull the trigger, and ten bullets will pierce his skull."

America ground his teeth together in frustration.

_Damn! How the hell did he hear Mattie?_

"What do you want?" America asked, voice deadly calm as he kept the revolver trained on the alien nation. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I _hate_you!" The alien screeched. "You, your brother and that damn friend of yours! You killed my people! You destroyed my fleet! Now I am stuck here on this remote planet because of you!"

"You brought this upon yourself." America growled savagely. "Now let him go."

"I will not die on this planet while you live on." The alien stepped back, finger moving to the trigger. "I refuse!"

"You have nothing left." America continued. "Surrender!"

The alien clenched the gun, his dark eyes locking with America's azure gems. Silence stretched as a cloud of tension thick enough to cut filled the air between them. Only the ocean waves crashing against the rocky shoreline broke up the ear-ringing silence. The weight of the revolver in his hand was a familiar comfort, as he'd been in many situations like this throughout his lifetime. Whether it a duel challenged to him by a rotten nobleman, the high-noon stand offs in the his remote western boom towns, or the years of experience in every war of his lifetime. The alien knew he couldn't beat him at a one on one duel, because he knew his history…understood America as a person, who loved his guns so much that quick draw and target shooting was a _hobby_. So he used Alaska for leverage…_the bastard knew how precious my states are to me… damnit! I should've known that he'd studied reports of fights and battles I've been in with the aliens before._

He felt the muscles of his upper arm starting to cramp at keeping the gun held aloft and concentrating on a target for such an extended period of time. The gravel shifted suddenly directly behind him, and that familiar, comforting presence of his twin washed over him.

_I know you're behind me, Matthew._ America thought relishing the comforting feel of his brother's close proximity. _Take the shot._

America's heart pounded against his ribcage as something large wedged itself in his throat. Alaska's eyes, the very same blue as America's, bore through him in a silent plea.

_Take it._ He kept readjusting his aim as he tried to find a clear shot to the alien's head, but nation kept moving, making sure Alaska's head always swerved in front of him. _Please…please…_

Alaska mouthed "_Do it_" at him, his face hardening in preparation.

_No! I can't do it…I can't shoot you! Why do you have to be so stubborn-?_

The alien pulled the trigger. A bullet left the chamber with a bone-shattering explosion, slamming through Alaska's temple, piercing his skull, drilling through his head until it exited on the other side with a spray of blood. The alien released him - Alaska's eyes instantly glazed over as he dropped to the ground like a ragdoll – and leaped away before he dropped to the ground and disappearing in a nearby alley, racing towards the hillside.

"_Noo_!" America screamed, angry fury blinding any rational thought from entering his mind, and launched into a sprint to follow after the alien nation.

"Alfred wait-!" Canada suddenly reappeared in the street. "Stop- this is exactly what he wants you to do-!"

A door slammed open and Russia crashed through the doorway of the other building. Without saying a single word, he raced up the street to cut the alien off. Canada cursed in French and ran after him.

Up ahead, the alien burst through the doorway of another building and disappeared inside, slamming it shut behind him. America surged up to the doorway, threw out his arm and exploded through the door, wrenching it off its hinges and sending it clattering to the floor. He raced down the hall, raised his revolver and emptied his magnum at the alien, but missed every shot in his haste. The alien burst through a back door and with inhumanly fast speed, sprinted up another smaller street and into another home. America followed, sending the back door off its hinges as he lost all control of his strength in his fury.

Russia appeared around the corner and just caught sight America entering another home, one-hundred feet ahead. He followed, feet pounding into the gravel road as he raced after the two of them. Canada followed in the rear, lugging his huge rifle.

"I'll fucking kill you!" America shouted as he reloaded his gun, raised the barrel and emptied his gun again. Glass windows shattered, wood splintered, bullets ricocheted off metal and other hard surfaces, but none hit the alien as he fled through another back door and head up the steep hillside to a shed, dodging and moving just enough to make it impossible to shoot him. He shoved open a shed door, revealing another, larger, metal hatch way that was open. Faint green lights glowed to one side.

"You're not getting away this time!" America shouted breathlessly, forcing his legs to keep moving at a sprint up the 40 degree angle cliff-side and into the shed. America caught the door as it was shutting, sliding through the side and disappearing in the dimly lit tunnel. Russia slammed the back door open and raced up the cliff side, boots digging into the rocks until he came to the shed, thrust himself through the rapidly closing hatchway, just making it past before the metal door slid shut. Canada put on a final burst of speed only to slam into it as it grinded shut.

"No!" Canada shouted in desperation and beat his fists on the heavy metal hatch. "Damnit Al!"

The other men appeared behind him, gasping from the race through the town and up the cliff side. Canada panted softly, clenching his fists in trembling anger as he took a deep calming breath and turned around.

"I can't get this door open. You two-" He nodded at the Russian and American men. "See if you can work on cutting the power and forcing it open. Use a flare to signal if successful. Liam, set up the radio in the government building by the docks. Ethan come with me."

The men nodded at their duties and went to work. Canada tried ignoring the worried apprehension that nagged at the back of his mind as he started walking down the cliff-face to the docks, taking up the grisly task of cleaning Alaska's wound and taking care of his dead body.

_Please, Ivan… look after my brother._

* * *

The alien nation ran ahead, the outline of its body barely visible in the gloom of the dark tunnel as it stretched on and on. Alfred reached to reload his revolver, but found his belt empty. Cursing, he stuffed the magnum back into its holster and reached for the other revolver that was still loaded, jerking it out and aiming it at the nation's back. He fired a shot, but the nation twisted its body and the bullet sailed past, embedding itself in the stone wall. A string of Led Christmas lights were attached to the ceiling of the tunnel, providing a soft light that didn't reach the crevices of the tunnel, letting shadows stretch and move as Alfred raced past. He fired again, the alien twisted but not fast enough. The bullet sliced across the skin of his shoulder, drawing a spray of green blood. The nation hissed at the pain and suddenly disappeared around a corner.

America plowed ahead, combat boots pounding into the ground and echoing in the tunnel as he came to an intersection. Planting his left foot down, he twisted and launched himself around the corner, wasting no time as he raced ahead. The next tunnel was much darker, as the white Christmas lights used were the older kind, and many of the bulbs burned out. Long swatches of tunnel were bathed in black, inky darkness, the weak light of the bulbs barely illuminating the area. Two green lights appeared in the distance. The alien nation headed straight for them.

"Trying to hide behind another door?" America shouted, aimed his revolver and shot again, this time hitting the alien just below the ribcage to the right, hitting the soft fleshy part.

He screeched loudly and clutched the wound, but kept racing forward, ignoring the pain. He reached the second hatchway and slamming its palm to the wall. The lights turned red and the hatchway slowly slid shut.

America braced himself, ignoring the burning in his lungs and pushed himself to run faster, his feet pounding at the floor, arms pumping at his sides, hot breath gasping through his mouth and nose. The door slid shut with a grinding click. Something slammed into the door a second later, and the realization that Russia was stuck on the other side suddenly fell away at the sight before him.

Beneath him was a rickety catwalk hastily attached the ceiling far above. At least three to four hundred feet of space separate the floor of the cat walk to the floor of the massive room, which looked big enough to hold two football stadiums side by side. Packed on either side of the room were hundreds of thousands of war heads. Some as massive as a two story building, others small and compact. All bearing the marks of either American or Russian ownership. All bearing the colors of being not a regular bomb, but nuclear.

America felt his heart turn to lead and drop to his gut.

His mouth dropped open, shock ripping through his body. Dread slammed into his chest as he realized the size and severity of the explosion that would occur if the war heads went off all at once. The war heads Russia and America once pointed at each other now being used against them.

"It is almost poetic."

America's eyes snapped back to the catwalk. The alien nation stood at the far end, where the walkway opened up to a larger area. Behind him stood a platform made of various wooden boxes. Weaving in and out of the boxes were millions of brightly colored wires, all tangled and weaved around each other. All were wrapped together to form a single, massive length of wire as thick as America's thigh. The huge length of wire lead to a single device, where it was then rewired into four strands that plugged into a tiny cell phone like device. Red numbers flashed over the screen.

_40:20:00_

And then it started ticking by, counting down second by second.

"Having the weapons you once pointed at each other now being used against you." The alien stated darkly, its black eyes barely visible in the gloom. "But the end result is still the same."

America glared at him and said nothing.

"Mutually Assured Destruction…is it?" The alien allowed a cruel smirk to spread across its face. Something thumped the floor behind it and curved around the aliens body, rising to upward to flick back and forth. It was a tail, covered in reptilian scales the color of indigo, contrasting with its dark grey skin.

America peered at it for a moment before moving his gaze back to the aliens face. _None of the regular alien people have tails…but he has one. Did he retain manage to keep some of the qualities from his last body?_

"Inside this room are the same number of tanks, holding the exact same poisonous compounds as those found in the other bases. When these go off-" He motioned to the nuclear warheads around the room. "-The blast will shoot a dark cloud of poison into the atmosphere, where it will rain back down to the oceans, sending it all over the world. Killing all ocean life. All life on land, and then humanity."

America felt his mind retreat to a time when he practiced verbal duels like this at every opportunity with Russia, whether it be over the phone, by letter, or in person. Quickly, America thought through the current situation. They were on a small island in the Bering Strait. Outside of this room were a huge combined force of Russian, Canadian and American military personnel. This nation's soldiers were dead. It's people on the run. Its fleet utterly destroyed. It had nothing left to lose except its own life.

…_which means I'm actually at a disadvantage._ America clenched his teeth together in frustration. _There's nothing I can offer him to keep him from stopping that countdown. I can't kill him now, since else he'll regenerate and appear with his people. I have to capture him alive and stop the countdown myself. But…if I can somehow use the remaining numbers of his people…_

"This blast will affect your people too." America reminded him. "They need water and food just as much as we do. Do you want them the die?"

"I'd rather die honorably then locked away in your control!" The alien shouted, razor sharp teeth glistening in the dim light. "To know this blast will kill you off is worth the risk of disappearing forever."

America raised his revolver and aimed it at the aliens head.

"If you shoot me…the bullet might pass through and hit the device behind me." The alien purred. "Would you risk it setting off these warheads?"

_Damn him!_ America clenched the gun tightly, hand trembling. _He's right. Fuck!_

_He wants to fight hand to hand._ America slowly re-holstered his gun, keeping his eyes glued on the alien nation. _He's too confident… is he hiding something?_

The alien hissed lowly, lips curling back as he growled and took a step forward, arms raising, tail swishing behind him. America lowered his stance, turning defensive, and steeled himself for the fight.

"Without your guns…You are going to die, little boy."

America felt his temper boil at that, but he held himself. The alien lowered its stance, and suddenly leapt forward, springing ahead and slamming into America. The two fell to the ground in a heap. America threw an elbow at its neck, shoving it off him. The alien gasped wetly, but recovered in seconds and drove its fist across America's face. America's head snapped back, body staggering from the blow. The alien threw itself at America, gripping his neck and slamming its knees into his chest. America felt the breath leave his lungs in a rush, but still reached for the hand at his neck and squeezed. The alien screeched, reached with its other hand and sunk its claws into America's forearm, pulled back, lifted America's heavy form and slammed him into the side of the catwalk.

America finally wrenched the hand off his neck, reared a fist back and slammed it into the aliens gut…only to have him hiss, reach behind him, pull out a hidden pipe and smash it across America's brow. America's head whiplashed to the side and he fell to the floor, eyes unfocused. Gasping, America tried sitting up, but his body flailed and he fell back to the catwalk.

"You thought you could defeat me like this!" The alien screeched, jumped up and slammed a foot to America's gut. "Me? Who is thousands of years your superior!"

He sent another blow to America's belly, leaving him coughing and gasping. America blinked several times and weakly crawled away. The alien laughed and followed him. America suddenly turned, raised his fight leg and sent it into the alien's groin. The alien flew back and crashed to the floor, hissing wetly and clutching itself.

"Gonna... fight dirty…huh?" America wheezed hoarsely, staggering to his feet and walking towards the alien. Something warm streamed down his face and dripped off his jaw, entering his right eye, turning his vision red and blurry at one side. A stark, coppery taste filled his mouth, the side of his tongue stinging from biting it from the blow to his head. "You piece of shit…thought I was done in after a little blow to the head….huh!"

The alien raised the pipe and swung it at him. America dodged and lunged for him. The alien rolled away, its tail raising up and slamming into America's gut before he crashed to the empty floor. America gasped, but went to grab at the tail to rip the thing off the alien's body. Suspecting this, the alien screeched a curse and raised the pipe, swinging it down. America predicted the swung, and grabbed the pipe in mid air. He wrenched it away from the alien, crushed it into a ball and flung it away, where it slammed and embedded itself into the metal hatch.

"No more…" America growled, eyes gleaming dangerously, chest heaving with deep gasps. "No-"

The alien lunged for America, putting on a sudden burst of inhuman speed as he grabbed America by the neck and slammed his head into the floor. The alien straddled his waist, lifted America's head and slammed it into the floor again and again until America finally recovered and wrenched the hands off the aliens neck and slammed a fist across its face. The alien fell away, green blood dripping from its lips. America growled and, giving into his anger, threw himself at the alien, his hands outstretched and reaching for its delicate neck. The alien extended its claws and finding an open spot, ripped them across America's throat.

America landed off to the side and pressed a hand to his neck, blood already soaking his shirt and covering his hand. Four messy avulsions ripped across the skin and tissue of his throat. America took a breath, but everything turned bubbly. The alien stood, reached for another hidden pipe and started for America.

"Looks like I was too shallow." The alien growled. "I didn't hit your artery….but I managed to cut your windpipe."

The alien raised the pipe and slammed it across America's chest. America shouted a gasp and tried rolling away, clutching his bleeding throat, blinking the blood and sweat from his eyes.

"You are so used to your guns…so used to ending something with the pull of a trigger." The alien slammed the pipe across America's side, earning deep throated cry. "You've never had to truly defend yourself by hand to hand before." He kicked America's gut. A wet, choked wheeze whispered past America's lips. "Weak… your body is soft…so much more than the other nations I have faced. The older ones who would never have let themselves get into a situation like this." Another strike to the chest. "Beg for release. Beg for forgiveness."

America still kept a hand pressed to the found deep cuts to his throat, fingers covered in blood. His body covered in black and blue bruises. A huge cut split across his forehead near the hairline, blood spilling from it and streaming down the side of his face. His lips were parted to gasp for air, revealing his tongue and teeth stained with crimson.

The alien glared down at him, eyes full of hate and loathing.

"Beg me to stop."

America rolled his sharp, deadly azure glare to the alien eyes, pursed his lips together and sent a glob of blood-stained spit at his chest.

"_Fuck _you."

The alien glared at the spit on his chest, raised the pipe in rage and smashed it across the back of America's head.

* * *

Russia finally managed to rip the paneling out of the side of the wall and cut the power to the hatch. For the past ten minutes, he'd heard nothing but shouts, fighting, crashing and something large slamming into the door. Knowing that America was fighting him hand to hand, and knowing the boy's weaknesses in that area, he raced to open the door. Wedging a knife in the crack of the door and the frame, he slowly forced it open, the door grinding metal on metal as he slowly slid it open enough to step through.

The alien was just staggering to its feet, obvious cuts and bruises littering its body. At his feet lay America, unconscious, badly beaten and blood everywhere.

Vision narrowing, he ignored the jaw-dropping sight of the warheads and the obvious timed device to concentrate on the alien. Reaching down, Russia withdrew a dagger the length of his forearm from the sheath at his right hip and started for the alien. The nation's black eyes narrowed as he crouched and leapt to the left and swung the pipe at Russia's neck. Russia dodged, and drove the dagger through the air at the alien's chest. The alien swerved away, its back twisting unnaturally, and slammed the pipe into Russia's left side into his kidneys. Russia grunted and staggered back into the side-wall of the catwalk, the metal grating clashing noisily against Russia's backside.

The alien screeched, frustration and anger lacing its screams. Russia clenched the knife, ignoring the throbbing ache from his left side, and stormed forward at the alien. The alien dodged, but wasn't fast enough. Russia drove the knife into its shoulder, and gripped it by the neck. The alien screeched and struggled in his grasp, arms and legs flailing.

"Not fun…fighting someone who is better than you, is it?" Russia growled into its face.

The alien's eyes flashed in the dim light, a cry of fury torn from its throat as the alien reared its head back, snapped it forward, opened its mouth and sunk its razor sharp teeth into Russia's arm.

Russia shouted in pain, and tried wrenching his hand away, but the alien held on, its teeth sinking deeper and deeper until Russia released the knife, gripped its head and forced it away. Pieces of deep tissue and flesh came away as the alien staggered backwards. Blood spilled from Russia's right arm, covering his hand and dripping steadily to the metal grating below their feet. The alien reached up and gripped the knife, pulling it out of its chest with a wet_schlick_. It screeched and sprinting at Russia, dagger clutched in its hands.

Russia picked up the pipe the alien dropped with his left hand – his non-dominate hand – and stopped the first strike of the dagger with the pipe. The two clanged together, metal on metal. Russia shoved the pipe forward, forcing the alien back and tried pushing him off balance. The alien shifted and slashed in a wide arc across Russia's chest. The knife sliced through the camouflage shirt and into his skin, cutting a neat line fro his right side up to his left breast. Russia grimaced at the sting, but ignored the pain and smashed the pipe across the aliens face. It staggered back, blinking and regaining its bearings as Russia stomped after him, boots crashing heavily into the metal-mesh flooring of the catwalk.

Hearing this, the alien stepped backwards until its backside struck the metal hatch. Russia lunged forward and swung the pipe at its head. the alien anticipated the shot and twisted around and behind Russia as the larger nation slammed into the metal door. Growling in frustration, Russia whirled around to face the other nation only to the dagger slam into his right shoulder, through his shoulder blade, exiting his body and driving into the hatch door, lodging itself in the metal.

"_Ahh_!" Russia shouted in pain and reached for the knife.

The alien twisted the knife, sending a crippling pain shooting throughout Russia's body.

A low growl of anger escaped Russia's throat. "You-"

"Shut up!" The nation shouted, tearing the pipe from Russia's weak grip, raised it and slammed it once, twice, multiple times until the leather grip of the dagger was bent slightly. Gasping, the alien stepped back just out of Russia's reach. "And again…I prove that I am the stronger nation."

Russia glared at him, violet eyes narrowing. Raising a trembling hand, Russia gripped the leather handle of the dagger and tried pulling it free, only to growl in pain as the knife remained firmly lodged in the metal door.

"Haha!" The alien puckered its lips together and spit at Russia's feet. "How does it feet to be helpless again?" He raised the pipe and slammed it into Russia's right kidney. "Unable to defend yourself again?" The pipe cracked across his chest. "At the mercy of someone you shot in the head and committed mass genocide against my people?"

The alien raised the pipe again, but held it aloft in the air and waited for Russia to answer.

Hand still clenching the knife, Russia lifted his head and leveled a hateful, loathing glare at the alien…only to see America staggering to his feet, hands clutching the waist-high side wall to the catwalk. He blinked once, twice, and straightened. Keeping his left hand on the rail for support he walked – slowly, quietly – towards the alien nation, an angry grimace baring his teeth, eyes narrowed to slits. Russia refused his gaze on the alien and smiled.

"May they all rot in hell."

* * *

A familiar shout jarred America awake. Eyelids peeling back - his left eye stinging from the blood that spilled in his eye from the deep cut on his forehead – he lifted his head, reaching a hand to press to the gaping avulsions on his bare throat. The room spun and moved about, his vision swimming in red as he tried to regain his bearings. More shouts came, each one punctuated with a fleshy _thump_, and a croaking, hissing voice speaking angrily.

"How does it feet to be helpless again?"

More shouts. More _thumps_.

"Unable to defend yourself again?"

America squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them. Two dark shapes stood outlined in the gloom of the massive room. One far taller than the other, but pinned against the door. The smaller figure raised something and slammed it across the other's chest. the taller figure half cried out, half gasped, the breath leaving his lungs in a flash. Platinum blonde hair flashed in the light.

_Ivan._ Realization washed through him. _He's hurt! He's…that alien nation is hurting him._ Possessive anger flooded his chest. _First its my people. Then my son. And now my boyfriend!_

Vision swimming, body protesting with every move, America struggled to his feet.

"At the mercy of someone you shot in the head and committed mass genocide against my people?"

He reached up and grabbed the rail, using it as a crutch to push himself up. His legs trembled from the exertion, but America forced himself to move. Sleep gripped his mind and fought against him, wanting him to lay down, wishing him to ignore Russia, let his eyes roll skyward and fall into the blissful ignorance of unconsciousness.

_No-no-no. I can't give in. I won't let it end like this._ The memory of the nuclear warheads and the red numbers slowly counting down to zero burned into his memory. _I won't let this fucker get what he wants. I'm going to capture him alive, and he's going to rot in a jail cell until he ceases to exist._

Strength renewed from a burst of anger and determination, he started towards the alien, keeping his footsteps soft as the alien held the pipe in the air. Russia glared at the alien, eyes flat and full of hatred.

"May they all rot in hell."

The alien screeched in fury, aimed for Russia's neck, and swung the pipe. America lunged forward, grabbed the alien by its swirling, seething black tentacles at the nape of its neck and yanked it back. The alien screamed in pain, dropping the pipe to the floor with a metallic clatter. It's tail swung up and tried hitting America in the chest. America caught it with his free hand, squeezed, and snapped the tail upward until the vertebrae at the base of its tail snapped apart.

"No!" The alien screamed again, his screeches echoing throughout the room. "Please let go- it hurts it hurts! Mercy!"

"You little fuck! Did you grant my son mercy when I asked you to let him go?" America growled wetly. "Did you grant me mercy when you kidnapped my brother? My boyfriend?"

The alien managed to regain a foothold on the floor. America jerked him up by the tentacles, earning more ear-piercing screeches, raised his right foot and slammed it down on the aliens left thigh, snapping the thick bone in its leg into two pieces.

"You deserve nothing but to be locked away in a jail cell until you fade into nothing." America squeezed his fingers around the aliens neck and slammed its face into the floor. "I should tie you up, dump you in my deserts and let the ravens pick your flesh away until there is nothing left." He gripped the aliens right arm and yanked it backwards, a dull _pop _coming from the joint as the shoulder was dislocated. America released the alien and staggered back into the rail, wheezing wetly.

"Alfred.." Russia called, his voice pained. "Get this knife out of my shoulder."

America pushed himself away from the rail, vision swimming in red and blurring in and out of focus. Clutching him for support, he gripped the knife and rolled his eyes up to peer at Russia. Mouth set in a thin line, jaw clenched, body tight, Russia nodded and braced himself. The knife came away with a wet _schlock_, followed by a shouted groan of pain. Russia grasped his bloody shoulder, right arm now useless from the wound. America dropped the knife to the floor, gasped, and forced himself to remain consciousness.

"Don't get too comfortable." America pushed away and returned to clenching the rail. "We have to keep these nuclear bombs from going off."

Russia turned to him, eyes widening into saucers, shock dripping from his gaze. "No…he didn't…" He turned to finally look around the room, the breath leaving him in a rush. Dread filling his eyes as they settled on the electronic device counting down to zero, the red numbers burning in the gloom.

_15:35:02_

America pressed a hand back to his throat and started towards the device when the alien spoke up again.

"You'll never get an expert here in time to disable it. You will have to do it yourselves, and fail." The alien growled, its scratchy voice hoarse from the screaming. "You _will_fail. They will explode, turning your bodies, and all of your people outside into dust."

A memory America tried to forget reared its head, and suddenly he was back in Japan after the war, viewing the carnage, seeing the damage it did to the land, the buildings, the people first hand. Seeing the horrible burns Japan's skin as he tended to his wounds, hoping that one day they could become friends once more.

Squeezing his eyes shut, America grew still and clenched the rail. Russia glared at the alien.

"And I hope you wake up again, so you can feel it slowly killed your land, your animals, your _people_, slowly killing them one by one until there is _nothing left_-"

Russia lunged for the alien, wrapped his hands around his face and jaw and twisted its gaze to meet his own.

"Say one more word, and I will _rip_ your tongue out with my bare hands and _stuff _it down your throat."

With that, Russia slammed his face into the floor, straightened, and headed for the device.

"Come America."

Russia came to stand beside America, took his hand in his own and threaded their fingers together. America opened his eyes to peer at Russia, hope rekindled.

"Let's crack it open and disable the countdown."

A dizzying haze obscured spots of Alfred's vision as his head swam with dizziness. It felt as if he were bobbing in the water, the floor jello-like under his feet.

"Alfred- come, kneel here."

A hand - _Russia's _hand – squeezed his palm and tugged him downward. Alfred tumbled to his knees and felt the wave of dizziness wash over him, leaving him feverish and light headed.

"We will work through this." Russia's calm, steady voice came from the right. Alfred blinked once, squeezing his eyes shut before slowly reopening and turning to peer him. "I will need your help in disabling this, as I cannot move my right arm. I can use my hand but my shoulder blade is shattered."

"Yeah." America breathed, vision beginning to swim again. "Okay."

"I know you are suffering from severe blood loss, but we must do this now. The timer only has ten minutes left."

"I'll stay awake." America stated firmly. "I promise I won't pass out."

"Can you see well enough to help me?" Russia asked, voice deadly serious.

"Yeah." America went to nod, but stopped as another wave of light-headedness flooded him. "I'm fine for now."

Russia focused on the device sitting before them. It was small and black, looking almost like a touch-screen cellphone. Using his left hand, Russia reached forward and carefully turned the device around so the back was visible. The battery and back panel were replaced with four multicolored wires, some soldered on to various circuit connectors, two soldered at the positive-negative receptors in the area where the battery would normally be.

"This looks like a cellphone…but…" Russia frowned. "It's far more advanced. Possibly a custom made micro-PC or something stolen from one of our military bases."

"So this thing is running a program that – when the countdown reaches zero – will send the signal to detonate the bombs." America reasoned. "Right?"

"Da." Russia confirmed. "From what I can see of the circuit board, and the power consumption it is using, there is a lot more going on than a simple count down."

"Damnit." America cursed. "That means its running a shit load of security software. If we try and hack it, it will detect us and send a signal to detonate. What if we cut the cords coming from the circuit board?"

"We could but he might have put a failsafe in that….in the event of this things connection-" Russia nodded at the black square device. "-is disabled, the bombs go off."

"What- you mean he could have preprogrammed all of these to go off anyway?" America waved a hand at the thousands upon thousands of nuclear warheads littering the floor below the catwalk. "You really think he went through all of that work?"

"He was here for more than two years." Russia reasoned. "He had the time, the knowledge, and with all of the supplies he stole from our military…he could have done it."

"Fuck." America turned the device over. Only Seven minutes remained. "Then we cut the power."

Russia frowned and shook his head. Before he could speak, America cut in.

"Look, what choice do we have?" America reasoned, ignoring the waves of dizziness flooding through him. "If we cut the transmission wires, we die. If we cut the power, we die. If we do nothing, we die!" America picked up the discarded knife from the ground. "We have to do something. We either cut the power, or we cut the transmission wires."

"Whatever decision we make, both of us must agree on it." Russia insisted.

"Agreed." America glanced at Russia and azure locked with violet before the two broke away to refocus on the device. "Okay. So we know there's a lot of security software. If we cut the transmission wires, then there's the possibility that these warheads are preprogrammed. If we cut the power, it could also trigger a failsafe built into this thing-" America slapped the box the wires fed into before being attached to the device. "-and detonate the warheads. If we had time and the tools to do it, I'd say let's hack this thing."

"But we can't." Russia turned the device's display back towards them.

_6:27:38_

America stared at the wires coming out of the back of the device. The two coming from the battery were red and black, positive and negative. The wires coming from the circuitry were blue and yellow.

_Six minutes left._ America worried his bottom lip. _We __**have **__to cut one of them._

Reasons why not to cut either of them raced through his mind. Endless scenarios appeared in his mind's eye, all ending in the same blinding white flash, the world falling away, painless and numb, floating through the abyss of the that foggy area between life and death. Standing on the edge of a precipice as your body slowly leaned forward, an unseen force pulling you down, down to a sweet never-waking dream. A wind would rushed through you, and an opposite force pulling you away, back to reality, back to pain, back to feeling all the wet workings of your fleshy body newly healed, skin soft and pink.

Mind racing, thoughts and images flashing, all rushing through America's mind. An internal battle waged within, the tug and pull of each side neither lost or gained ground.

_Damnit. What do we do? Which one do we cut?_ America thought furiously. _Either way it's a gamble. Each one has pros and cons. Each one has its risks. Maybe…maybe we could just flip a coin-__**no**__! We can't- we have the lives of thousands of men and women right outside this room, fighting to defend their homes, their families and everything they hold near and dear. But…but which one? Which one do we pick? Which one do we take a gamble on…and cut? It's like a game of Russian roulette. You spin the cylinder, snap it back without looking, and pull the trigger. It could click empty…or blow your brains out. We only get one chance to stop this-"_

"We cut the transmission wires." Russia stated, cutting into America's internal monologue. "The yellow and purple wires."

"The transmission wires?" America slowly turned to peer at Russia, eyebrows rising skyward in question. "But…why? What are you basing your decision on? Did you figure something out?"

"I chose those wires because…" Russia's voice turned soft. "…Because yellow and violet are _Alexei's_two favorite colors."

America turned his face to the floor as a wave of painful regret flooded him. The boy was still dead…America knew this - could **feel **this…feel it as vividly as feeling Texas rest on his nose. A part of him felt cut away, a hole left barren and empty. A stinging, aching hole gouged out with the shot of a single bullet.

"Yeah. Let's…" America faltered suddenly, throat closing in fearful tension for a breath, choking the rest of the words out. "Let's cut those."

"Ready?" Russia asked, violet eyes deceptively calm. " We can cut the power if you think that is the better option."

"No." America forced his pounding heart back down his throat and into his chest where it belonged. "We'll cut the transmission lines."

Picking up the discarded dagger, Russia wrapped the wires around the blade and held them tight. America moved his right hand across Russia's lap to enclose his fingers around the elder nations fist that clenched the dagger.

"We'll cut it together." American managed a tiny, albeit guilty, smile. "No regrets?"

"Da." Russia slide his violet pools over to America's dull azure orbs. "No regrets."

Together they pulled the wires taught, the plastic split and with an audible snap, the wires were cut.

Silence flooded the cavern, punctuated with slow, staggered breathing.

There was no pain. No burning. No flames.

America opened his eyes. The countdown continued. The red numbers ticking by at a slow, but steady pace.

_4:55:13_

"Now we wait." Russia stated grimly. "We wait until the countdown reaches zero…and if there is no explosion, then we know it will have worked."

America frowned. _It will…if the alien bastard didn't preprogram all of these warheads. None of this would've happened if I had kept my head on straight…if I hadn't of let him kill Alex…_

"This…this is all my fault." America sighed and brought up his fingers to rub his eyes. "I…I should've shot that alien when I had the chance. I could've shot him through Alex's shoulder…If I did that, he'd be alive right now…and we'd have that _fucking_alien in custody."

Russia said nothing.

"He's dead…and I don't know if he'll come back." America dipped his head and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the tears away. "That's pretty bad, huh? There's thousands of nuclear warheads that might go off, kill you and me, our military here and threatening the people in our homelands…and all I care about is the fact that…that alien shot _my_Alex in the head." America slammed a fist into the metal grating below, denting it. "Every time I close my eyes, I see him staring at me…waiting for me to save him and make everything right again. But…I didn't. I failed."

_4:07:45_

"Alex will revive." Russia said, confidence filling his voice. "There is no doubt."

"How do you know that?" America finally turned to face him.

"Because he is strong." Russia stared at the red numbers as they slowly counted down. "And stubborn, like you."

_3:48:03_

America managed a small, breathy chuckle and pressed his face to Russia's uninjured shoulder. Russia lifted his working arm and curled it around America's shoulders. They fell silent for a long moment before America spoke up once more.

"How…how can you be so calm?" America's voice was small and quiet, his youthful, energetic nature taking control once more. "What if this wasn't enough? What if we were wrong and ended up making something worse? What if-"

"We have done all we can. The transmission wires are cut." Russia lowered his arm to curl around America's waist, calm and patience coming with his elder, mature nature. "There is no point in worrying."

_2:00:32_

A sudden quaking took hold of America's body. Clenching his teeth, America forced the trembling to stop.

"I'm not afraid." America stated after receiving a worried glance from Russia. "The aliens are defeated. The leader is also defeated and captured. You're right…we did everything we could."

America leaned in close, curling his right arm around Russia's waist and pressing his cheek to the crook of his left arm where the shoulder and chest joined. Russia tightened his grip on America's waist and dug his fingers into the younger man's hip. The two melted into one another, both absorbing each other's warmth and comfort.

_1:45:24_

"Ignore the clock." Russia insisted when he felt America's head move repeatedly. "You are making me nervous."

"I can't help it." America pouted, sliding his eyes to the red numbers that burned in the gloom of the cavern. "I keep thinking-"

"Stop thinking." Russia lifted his hand and pressed it to America's face, sliding his fingers over his eyes. "Stop worrying."

America let his eyelids slide closed at Russia's touch.

"Just…turn off your mind and relax." Russia trailed his fingers over America's face, tracing his fingertip over his eyelids, down his nose, over his cheekbones to his jaw. "Think of all the things you will do when the aliens are defeated once and for all."

A smile blossomed across America's face, but he kept his eyes closed.

"It'll be a big celebration…like a party. With fireworks and campfires. There will be lemonade and fresh apple pie. And _music_." America heaved a great sigh. "Lots of music – a live band – playing all the songs I've wanted to hear again for so long."

Russia rested his cheek on America's head. "Like…The Beatles?"

"Yea – and the Beach Boys and-"

"David Bowie?"

"Electric Light Orchestra."

"Jimi Hendrix."

"And Led Zeppelin and Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars and Incubus and…" America sighed wistfully. "Just everything."

"I am sure they would all sound wonderful. But…truthfully there is only one song I want to hear again."

"Really?" America finally opened his eyes and turned to Russia. "What is it?"

"You already played it for me, remember?"

America furrowed his eyebrows together for a moment before realization dawned. His eyes widened and eyebrows rose despite the large cut across his forehead, blood still oozing and streaming down his face, into his eyes.

"Waltz of the Flowers?" America laughed. "But- that was horrible. It was done on a fiddle that was out of tune and old and-"

"-and I will never forget your performance." Russia stated, completely sincere. "Sitting there in the Alaskan wilderness, snow everywhere… freezing and wondering if we were going to survive and take back our lands from the aliens…and you sitting there, playing the waltz."

"But…but-"America's eyes were huge, face stricken with shock. "You're just saying that. You don't mean it."

"Do I look like I am joking?" Russia deadpanned, slightly irritated as America's lack of faith in him. "Nothing will ever compare to it."

America grew silent and turned away, cheeks turning scarlet at the compliment.

"Ah-! The countdown finished."

"What?" America gasped, turning to the clock for confirmation and sure enough, it read _00:00:00_. "It…we're okay."

"Yes." Russia stated, pulled away from America to smirk at him. "We are alive. Just as I suspected."

"You _knew_?" America gaped at him.

"Of course not." Russia blinked at him in confusion. "But I…_assumed_nothing would happen. Is that the right word?"

America stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open. Russia met his stare, waiting for a moment before worry filled him.

"Alfred?" Russia asked, smile dropping. "Are you feeling well?"

America's eyelids lowered, eyes rolling up into his head as he fell forward, face colliding with Russia's chest. Russia grabbed him with his good arm before the younger man slid to the floor.

"Alfred! Ivan!"

"…Matthew?" Russia turned just in time to see Canada surging into the room.

"Alfred, what-!" Canada stopped in his tracks as he took in the thousands of warheads. "…What…the…"

"The alien nation was _dealt_with." Russia stated. "And the device being used to trigger the explosion diffused."

"O-oh."

Canada made a small, relieved sound at the back of his throat. His eyes slowly took in the injuries on both Russia and America. Russia with the bruises spotting his face, arms and torso, with a big stab wound on his right shoulder. America with similar injuries, only much more cuts and lacerations, including torn out throat.

"Well…let's get you two to the infirmary then."

* * *

_Next Update: LAST CHAPTER_

Extra Notes:

1. "**We also just got the Rum shipment in from Louisiana today."**= [] "New Orlean's Celebration Distillationwon several awards at the 2008 International Rum Competition, a gold for their Old New Orleans Crystal Rum, a silver for their Old New Orleans Amber Rum, and a bronze for their Old New Orleans 10 Year Old Rum. As expected the company uses Louisiana grown molasses and then ages the rum in used bourbon casks. Celebration Distillation also uses a custom made distilling system that is a combination of a pot still and column still."

**2. "Ruth"**= Louisiana's human name comes from the historical women's figure "Alice Ruth Moore Dunbar Nelson"… [wiki] "was an American poet, journalist and political activist. Among the first generation born free in the South after the Civil War, she was one of the prominent African Americans involved in the artistic flourishing of the Harlem Renaissance." Just like how I named Nevada after the explorer "Kit Carson", I named Louisiana after a historical women's figure. :)

**3. 西湖龍井****Long Jing (Dragon Well)**– A popular tea in China.

**4. "Romano and I noticed something similar on the southern island of Pantelleria in the Strait of Sicily."**= [Wiki] "…the ancient Cossyra, is an Italian island in the Strait of Sicily in the Mediterranean Sea, 100 km (62.1 mi) southwest of Sicily and just 60 km (37.3 mi) east of the Tunisian coast. Administratively Pantelleria is a comune belonging to the Sicilian province of Trapani. With an area of 83 km2 (32 sq mi), it is the largest volcanic satellite island of Sicily."

**5. Diomede Islands**= I used a combination of this image (.), google earth and weather data. I have seen many photos of the village on Little Diomede, and I actually had to embellish/add details/buildings/etc about the village to make it work in my story.

**6. The Prow**= [Wiki] "…the forward most part of a ship's bow that cuts through the water. The prow is the part of the bow above the waterline. The terms prow and bow are often used interchangeably to describe the most forward part of a ship and its surrounding parts. In old naval parlance, the prow applied to the battery of guns placed in the fore gun-deck."

**7. Little Diomede Island**= [Wiki] "… is an island of Alaska, United States. It is the smaller of the two Diomede Islands located in the middle of the Bering Strait between the Alaska mainland and Siberia. Its neighboring island Big Diomede is less than 2.4 mi (3.9 km) to the west, but is part of Russia and west of the International Date Line. (…) The island has a total area of 2.8 square miles (7.3 km2)"

**8. Big Diomede Island**= [Wiki] "...(Russian: остров Ратманова, ostrov Ratmanova, native name Imaqliq) is an island among the Diomede Islands in the middle of the Bering Strait. The island is a part of the Chukotsky District of the Chukotka Autonomous Okrug of Russia. (…)The rocky tuya-type island has an area of about 29 km2 (11 sq mi)."

**9. Tuya**= [Wiki] "…is a type of distinctive, flat-topped, steep-sided volcano formed when lava erupts through a thick glacier or ice sheet. They are somewhat rare worldwide, being confined to regions which were formerly covered by continental ice sheets and also had active volcanism during the same time period."

**10. America's uniform**= Used this picture to reference (the man to the far right) upload (dot) Wikimedia (dot) org (slash) Wikipedia (slash) commons(slash) 2 (slash) 21 (slash) DakToVietnam1966 (dot) jpg

**11. Canada's Uniform**= Used this webpage, near the end for reference canadiansoldiers (dot) com (slash) uniforms (slash) uniform (dot) htm

**12. Russia's Uniform**= Used this webpage for reference sovietarmystuff (dot) com (slash) Category_74_FLORA_Pattern (dot) html

**13. Kiloton Explosion**= Used this diagram for reference. .

**14. Chlorine**= [Wiki] "…Chlorine is a toxic gas that irritates the respiratory system. Because it is heavier than air, it tends to accumulate at the bottom of poorly ventilated spaces. Chlorine gas is a strong oxidizer, which may react with flammable materials. Chlorine is detectable in concentrations of as low as 0.2 ppm. Coughing and vomiting may occur at 30 ppm and lung damage at 60 ppm. About 1000 ppm can be fatal after a few deep breaths of the gas.[5] Breathing lower concentrations can aggravate the respiratory system, and exposure to the gas can irritate the eyes."

**15. Sarin Gas**= [Wiki] "Sarin has a high volatility relative to similar nerve agents. Inhalation and absorption through the skin pose a great threat. Even vapor concentrations immediately penetrate the skin. People who absorb a non-lethal dose but do not receive immediate appropriate medical treatment may suffer permanent neurological damage. Even at very low concentrations, sarin can be fatal. Death may follow in one minute after direct ingestion of a lethal dose if antidotes, typically atropine and pralidoxime, are not quickly administered."

**16. Sodium Cyanide**= [Wiki] "Cyanide salts are among the most rapidly acting of all known poisons. Cyanide is a potent inhibitor of respiration, acting on mitochondrial cytochrome oxidase and hence blocking electron transport. This results in decreased oxidative metabolism and oxygen utilization. Lactic acidosis then occurs as a consequence of anaerobic metabolism."

**17. "Nukapiak"**– Inuit for "boy"


	27. Chapter 25 Part 3

**Invasion  
By: Verin Mystal  
Pairings:** Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others  
**Summary:** America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & mature themes.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:

**Note:** Last Chapter & self-beta'd. I just wanted to thank all of my readers, whether you reviewed or not. Thank you for all of the comments/pms/favs/alerts. It always brightened my day seeing all of you enjoying this story. I hope you enjoy reading this last part :)

* * *

"I want him locked up with an armed guard at all times." Canada turned to his fellow soldiers that stood at the entrance to the massive cavern. "I also want him gagged."

Russia stood, grimacing when his arm was jostled, but masking his pain when his shoulder was steadied. Canada turned back to Russia and took America from his hold, picking him up bridal style and carrying him down the tunnel. Russia followed him in silence, the two walking with a hurried pace until they exited the tunnel. The other soldiers dragged the alien after them, taking him to a secured location near the harbor.

Canada carried America to the nearest building – which happened to be a tiny family home against the cliff-side, long abandoned from the alien occupation of the island. He kicked in the back door and lay his southern brother on the small dining table, so small that America's legs dangled off the edge at the knee – which Canada quickly fixed by shoving the table against the kitchen counter and lifting his legs upward to help force the blood back into his chest cavity.

While Canada did this, Russia stripped his bloodied camouflage shirt and protective vest away, disinfected the various cuts, scrapes, and lacerations he received from the fight, and set his shoulder so it could be tightly wrapped and kept stationary. With his right arm now immobile, save for his wrist and fingers, he helped Canada by cutting America's shirt off to give better clearance to the gaping wound on his neck – no longer bleeding – so it could be disinfected, closed and wrapped. This was not the normal way to do it, but with a nation's super-fast healing abilities, wounds had to be cleaned and closed up with record timing so scarring or anything disfiguring could be kept at a minimum. This was especially important for bones, as they could heal wrong if not reset immediately.

Canada pulled a bag from a pocket at his hip, ripped it open and withdrew plastic tubing, syringes, tape, gauze, disinfectant and other materials.

"Check his pulse." Canada asked Russia, who complied with a curt nod. "Monitor his vitals for me."

Russia took off his wind-up wrist watch with his teeth, placed it face up and picked up America's wrist with his thumb, index and middle fingers.

Canada took one strip of tubing and tied it off at his upper left arm with practiced ease. Flexing his hand for a second, he splashed alcohol on the crook of his arm, flicked at the vein and after preparing America's free arm, went to insert the needle into his own arm when Russia stopped him with a firm clench of his wrist.

"What?" Canada frowned. "Is he…?"

Russia nodded and released Canada. His eyes were clouded with disappointment.

"…Then we wait." Canada released a heavy sigh and tore off the tubing at his upper arm. "Can you watch after him until I finish checking on the alien?"

Russia nodded once. "Of course."

Canada hesitated for a moment before nodding silently to himself and leaving the home. Russia stepped closer and touched America's forehead, brushing the hair away from his bruised face and letting his fingers trail down his jaw. The younger nation was pale and very still. Blood covered his neck and chest, green alien blood splattered his face and hands, sticking to his skin like glue.

"Come back soon, Alfred."

* * *

America awoke in a white-walled room. His face naked without his glasses, he narrowed his eyes and squinted at his surroundings. Off to one side was a series of storage cabinets with books spilling out of its doors. The walls were plain, the window shuttered, and his bed offering the other color beside white and brown. His body ached and protested with exhaustion, feeling as if he were still recovering from the fight he endured with the alien nation. Judging by the frigid air temperature, the thick blankets piled over him, and the rattling window, it seemed he was still on the island. Something America was silently happy for, as he was never truly comfortable on a ship. He felt chained to the thing, unmovable and stuck…but give him an air plane and he felt weightless and free to go where he pleased.

_I must've passed out…_

He shifted under the heavy layer of blankets and reached up to touch his neck. Only faint raised lines remained where the alien clawed his throat out. Dropping his hand down to his chest, he proceeded to check his body. Only unmarked, healthy skin met his roaming fingers. Face numb from the frozen air filling the room, America burrowed under the blankets just before the door opened. Heavy booted footsteps sounded on the cold tile floor before the door clicked shut once more. The footsteps then continued, proceeding across the room to his bedside. The blankets shifted, and suddenly Russia's tall form emerged when the covers were tugged off his face.

"You are awake." Russia stated, voice tinged with surprise. "How are you feeling?"

"Fuckin' cold." America whined, tugging the blankets back over his face. "I feel like I got ran over by a train."

Russia hummed with mutual agreement. Reaching down, he nudged America's thigh and after the younger nation scooted away, took a seat on the side of America's bed.

"How long was I out?" America asked, tugging the blanket down just far enough to peer at Russia, eyes apprehensive. "Did I…you know…?"

"Three days." Russia stated. "You died on the operating table, but came back the next morning."

"What about Alex?" America stared at Russia. "Did he come back?"

Russia only shook his head, the corners of his mouth tugging downward. America groaned and rolled onto his belly, mashing his face into the pillow before hugging it fiercely. Russia pressed his hand to America's back and rubbed his palm in comforting circles.

"Stop blaming yourself."

America tightened his hold on the pillow for a second before pulling away. Frowning deeply, he leveled a dry, exasperated glare at Russia.

"You wouldn't have hesitated." America pouted. "If it was you, everything with the fight and the bombs and disabling the detonator…none of that would've happened."

America peered at him, eyes looking wide and bright without Texas sitting upon his nose. His face seemed younger without them, almost as if they gave him a kind of sophistication that his youthful, teenage body didn't have.

"No. I would not have hesitated." Russia confirmed, voice quiet and subdued. "I would have taken the shot, _but_-"

America sighed mournfully and turned back to the bed, mashing his face into the pillow once more.

"_But_-" Russia continued, voice growing stronger and more forceful. "That doesn't mean I would not have regretted hurting Alexei, Alfred."

Russia leaned down and trailed his hand up America's back to his neck, dragging his nails through his hair.

"Alfred." Russia's voice turned scolding. "Stop this. You are acting foolish."

"I killed my own state." America's voice was muffled and barely audible. "It's my fault."

"Do you doubt Alexei's strength so much?" Russia frowned at the younger nation. "Do you doubt he has the will the return to us?"

America's back grew tense, and he turned around with a glare. "What are you saying?" America flicked Russia's hand away from his hair. "That he's weak?"

"You are acting like he will never come back." Russia accused, violet eyes shining in the dim morning light.

"He's _not_weak!" America exclaimed, voice rising. "I just don't know if he'll come back, because it's my fault he's dead!"

"Did you pull the trigger?"

"…No. I didn't."

"Then you didn't kill him."

"But-!"

"Stop it." Russia pressed his right hand to America's mouth. "He will come back."

America glared at him for a moment before giving in with a sigh and relaxing back into the bed. His body was twisted slightly at his hips, his pelvis lying sideways facing Russia while his upper torso lay reclined against the mattress and pillows. Russia's hand remained at America's mouth for a moment before falling to the left to cup America's cheek.

"I know I'm very…over protective of them. My states…I mean." America peered at Russia, eyes squinting due to him not having his glasses on. "I really tried to not let it get to me…but I just **can't**."

"I know." Russia leaned down, bringing his face close to America's. "I have come to accept this long before the aliens arrived. It is just…one of your _quirks_." Russia turned confused for a moment. "That is the right word…yes?"

"Hah- yeah. I guess you could call it a quirk." America lifted his right hand and pressed it to Russia's cheek, smoothing his finger's across his cheekbone before sifting into the elder nation's thick, platinum blonde hair. "It's probably a very annoying quirk…or at least that's what Arthur and Mattie say all the time."

"Yes, it is annoying." Russia admitted with a smirk. America frowned at him, but before he could open his mouth to complain, Russia continued. "But it is something I have grown to accept as being _you_. Just as I have accepted your love of candy and burgers."

"And like how you think it's perfectly fine adding vodka to anything. Or how you enjoy going to those steam houses and then jump in a fucking freezing cold lake in the middle of winter."

"That sounds nice." Russia smiled wistfully. "And the _'steam house'_ you're referring to are called _banya_."

"You are so _weird_." America gaped at him. "How can that be _nice_?"

"When everything gets better, I will show you." Russia promised. "You will enjoy it."

"I'm going to hate it." America exclaimed with resolution. "I know I will."

"You don't know that." Russia leaned closer, his lips a hair's breadth apart from America's, his hot breath ghosting across America's face. "You might truly like it."

America lifted his hands and pressed them to Russia's chest, violet locking with azure for a split second before his hands slid around Russia's shoulder's. The two came together, lips molding against each other, but the kiss remained chaste. Parting with an audible intake of breath, America tightened his arms around Russia and clutched the older man in a bone crushing hug. Russia tried pulling away, but hesitated when America held firm. Fingers dug into his back through the thick coat he wore to protect himself from the frigid artic air.

"Don't go." America spoke into Russia's right ear, breath tickling his skin.

Russia turned his gaze to America, their eyes locking together. The two stared at each other for a long moment, America holding firm while Russia debated internally.

"I can't." Russia admitted after a long moment. "I have to relieve _Canada_from interrogation."

America pressed a kiss to Russia's earlobe. "Just a little longer?"

Russia tried pulling away. America clung to him.

"_Ivan_." America finally released him just enough so he could stare into Russia's violet eyes. "Please."

Russia gazed at him in slight surprise at the emphasis on his human name. His eyes searched America's clear blue orbs, trying to decipher America's reasoning for using _please_ on **him**of all people. America was not one to beg and plead. He demanded what he wanted, and would fight tooth and nail until his wishes were granted. It was just something Russia came to expect with the young, rash, headstrong nation. A nation who forged his existence through defying his elders and carving out his place in the world.

…But this was not America.

It was Alfred. A man – a _teenage_ man – who failed to perform to the best of his abilities when the time came, losing all control of the situation. His _'son'_dead, the mission he helped coordinate jeopardized…but victory was still attained. Narrowly.

Russia frowned at his inner weakness as he gave into his human feelings. His heart clenched at the sound of America's pleading voice and with a self-depreciating sigh, gave into America's demands. Russia scooted America over and after a minute of jostling and rearranging of limbs and various body parts, placed America at his left side so his body was half draped over Russia.

"Better?" Russia asked, voice gruff with annoyance.

America snuggled against the older - _taller, bigger_- man with a content smile spreading across his face.

"Mmhmm."

Russia allowed himself to relax and rubbed his left hand across America's back. Soft, goosefeather pillows touched the back of Russia's head, embracing him with comfort and warmth. A breathy, contented sigh escaped him before he could catch himself. America smirked, a small amused sound escaping his throat before he curled one arm around Russia's waist and nuzzled his face into Russia's chest.

"Matthew will probably be unhappy I am late-"

"Just be honest and blame me."

America closed his eyes, head slowly rising and falling with the movement of Russia's chest.

"He'll understand."

* * *

The Next Day

America crossed the main street that came up from the harbor – the only major street in the village – and entered the building being used as a field hospital until one of the ships could pick up the wounded. A medic was dropped off on the island – as _Alaska_was currently incapacitated – and took care of the few wounded soldiers from their small, specialized unit. America walked down the hallway, passing room after room, doors cracked so as to allow privacy, but still allow the medic to hear them just in case they call out for help. Coming to the stairwell, America went up the steps to the second floor and crossed the hall, coming to a halt before a closed door.

Swallowing audibly, America grasped the handle and stepped inside. There – inside a white and blue room – was Alaska. He lay on the bed, his body impossibly still. A thick bandage was wrapped tightly around his head, allowing his hair to remain visible just at the nape of his neck. His skin was snowy pale, black eye lashes and eyebrows contrasting sharply. His lips were a pale pink and he looked surprisingly healthy for being deceased.

America pushed the thought from his mind, closed the door behind him and crossed the room, dragging a metal chair to the boy's bedside and sitting with a _huff_. It was only after spending an exhaustive morning interrogating the alien and spending the subsequent afternoon patrolling the island and guarding the entrance to the tunnel was he given some free time in the evening. Russia and Canada were nowhere to be seen, as they were both equally busy with their own commanders and fulfilling the orders that slowly came in.

Taking advantage of the spare time he had, America scooted close to his young state – his _'son'_ – and ran his eyes over the boy. His body appeared to be completely healed. The cuts and scrapes on his hands and face were gone. America wanted to peel the bandages off the boy's head, but he held himself back. _I don't want to cause any more damage…just in case he is still healing. _Placing a hand on Alaska's forehead, he checked his body temperature and after deeming it to be normal – slid his hand down to the boy's arm. Linking their fingers together, America lifted Alaska's hand and clasped it between his two larger palms, pressing the boy's knuckles to his lips, kissing them with warm affection before gently placing his hand back to the white bedding.

_Damnit Alex…why did you have to disobey me?_

America scooted his chair back, but instead of standing up, he leaned down and rested his head in his arms at Alaska's bedside. It was well known among the nations that if one of their states, provinces or territories was dead, remaining close to them would hasten their healing. America had assumed this would happen just being within walking distance of the boy, but it had been days since the incident. America knew the circumstances were different now than before, as everyone was still recovering from the flash and alien invasion… but still.

_He looks healed. Why hasn't he come back yet?_

America let his eyelids fall shut and he relaxed against the bedside.

_I'll just stay here then. I'll stay with you and watch over you until I have to go again. That's what a normal parent would do…right?_

* * *

Russia slowly made his way up the stairs with slow, aching steps. He'd spent the entire day interrogating the alien nation, with little luck. The thing…the _creature_ refused to talk despite using the _methods_that had worked for him in the past. But deep down, Russia already knew this would happen. The alien nation seemed to know his time was short, and that his people were going to be wiped out, slowly but surely. He kept his silence, refusing to speak or even move from the fetal position he was curled up in, his body pressed to the farthest, darkest corner of its make-shift jail cell.

Shaking the dark thoughts from his mind, he came to Alaska's room and opened the door. America sat at Alaska's bedside, his upper torso and head supported by the boy's bed. The young state America was sleeping beside was just sitting up, pale-blue eyes wide with surprise but glazed with sleep.

Russia immediately pressed a finger to his lips, signaling the boy to remain silent as he quietly shut the door behind him and crossed the room. Alaska nodded and relaxed back into his bed.

"Feeling better?" Russia asked while picking up a blanket and placing it over America's back.

"Mmm- yes." Alaska nodded, eyes still focused on America. After a moment, he moved them up to Russia. "How long…?"

"Around four to five days."

"Oh." Alaska's gaze widened slightly. "That long?"

"I expected you to take longer to wake up, honestly." Russia sat at the foot of Alaska's bed. "It seems Alfred staying near you helped aid your recovery."

Alaska nodded. "I…will he be mad at me?"

"Most likely." Russia smirked. "But I think…his anger will be forgotten when he sees you awake and fully healed."

"Oh." Alaska grinned, happy with that response. He peered back at America for a long moment before turning back to Russia. "Can you tell me what happened after I was shot?"

Russia shifted his gaze to America, who was still fast asleep at Alaska's bedside. "What do you think happened?"

Alaska frowned, already know the answer. "Dad wasn't hurt was he?"

An image of America suddenly flashed through Russia's memory. A vision of the younger nation sprawled on the grating within the massive vault, neck ripped open, blood soaking his neck and chest. Cuts, lacerations and bruises covering his body. Forehead sliced open, more blood running down one side of his face, eyes flat from unconsciousness.

"He was…wounded. Badly." Russia finally admitted, his words guarded. "But as you can see-"

"Did he die?" Alaska stared at Russia, pale-blue eyes wide and serious. "Tell me the truth."

"Yes." Russia placed his hand on Alaska's right ankle, squeezing it softly through the sheets. "He did."

Alaska frowned, dipped his head and shifted his gaze to America. He lifted his hand and placed it on America's shoulder, shaking him gently.

"Dad- wake up."

* * *

America awoke with a gasp. His eyes flew open and he lunged back into his chair.

"Wha-…Alex!"

America laughed with relief, surged forward and wrapped his arms around the young state. He kissed his cheeks and nuzzled his nose into the boy's hair before pulling away. Alaska's cheeks burned with embarrassment at the show of affection.

"I'm sorry dad." Alaska gripped America's hands and clenched them tightly. "I disobeyed you and… I should've listened, but I didn't. I just wanted to fight them-"

"I know." America withdrew his hands from Alaska's. "And…I probably should've let you come. Knowing how stubborn you are…"

Alaska pouted, lips curling down into a cut frown. America grinned and pulled the boy into another hug.

"But everything worked out okay. So you got lucky this time."

Alaska wrapped his arms around America and hugged him fiercely. He buried his face into America's chest and squeezed his eyes shut. America rubbed a hand across Alaska's back and pressed his nose to the boy's crown of thick black hair. Russia watched the intimate moment with an awkward smile, but stood after a moment and headed for the door.

"Hey…Ivan." America turned to him. "Come on, get over here."

Russia turned back to him, unsure, but gave in when America motioned for him. He crossed the room and once he was at America's side, opened his arms and wrapped them around both America and Alaska. America released one arm from Alaska and in turn, wrapped it around Russia's waist.

Alaska grinned and snuggled in the two nation's dual embrace.

"Everything will be okay, now." America reassured. "We're going to win this war."

"Really?" Alaska looked up at both America and Russia. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Russia agreed. "We have the alien nation captured. All of their larger bases are destroyed."

America nodded. Alaska grinned, and returned to cuddling. Cheeks growing pink from the combined warmth of the three of them. America turned his warm gaze to Russia, who stared back unflinchingly.

"It's only a matter of time, now."

* * *

Later That Night

America lay in bed, four doors down the hall from Alaska. He'd managed to clear out another room and find a bed still in decent condition. After eating dinner and spending another few hours in interrogating the alien nation, America made his way back to the two-story building and upstairs, pausing to check in on Alaska before he headed to bed.

To his surprise, Russia was visiting with the boy again. He sat on the edge of the bed, talking to the boy in soft Russian.

_He never told me he understood Russian._ America frowned for a moment before it melted away. _It makes sense. I shouldn't be annoyed._

America watched them for a few minutes until Russia tucked him in, snuffed out the candle and exited the room. Russia turned around, his eyes widening in surprise at finding America standing in the hall before him.

"Hey." America smiled. "Visiting again so soon?"

"Yes." Russia closed the door, the handle clicking shut after him. "He is lonely…being in the room all day."

"…Yeah. But he's still healing, so no moving around until he okay again." America grasped Russia's hand and threaded their fingers together. "Come on."

"I can't." Russia tried pulling his hand away. "they will wonder where I am-"

"Then leave before dawn." America pulled him down the hall to the room he recently took.

"But…" Russia glanced back to the stairwell.

"Please. Just…for tonight." America reached the door, grips the handle and pulls Russia across the threshold. "It's been so long."

Russia gives in when America embraces him, and presses their lips together in a chaste kiss. Russia kicks the door shut and wraps his arms around America, squeezing him to his chest, the kiss growing deeper and more desperate. The two fall onto the tiny, twin size mattress. Limbs dangle off as they struggle out of their clothes while their lips meet again and again. Gasps, heated breaths, wet kissing and hands moving over bare skin. Russia pressed America to the mattress and fit snugly between his legs. America splayed his legs open and wrapped his arms around Russia's shoulders, lips pressed together in yet another kiss. Both dressed in nothing but boxers as they grinded against each other.

A knock sounded at the door.

America broke the kiss with a gasp.

"Wait-…what was that?"

Russia ignored him and continued to press kisses across his jaw and down his neck.

A gentle knock struck the door three times. Only this time it was more insistent.

_Impatient_.

"Wait- stop-" America gasped, pushing Russia away. "Someone's at the door."

Russia withdrew, eyes still glazed from the heated kissing, groping and grinding they were doing mere seconds ago. America went to sit up, silently thankful he wasn't completely hard yet, grasped the door knob, twisted and opened the door.

"What the hell do ya want-…Alex?"

The state in question stood in the hall, dressed in medical scrubs that were two sizes too big. Clutched to his chest was an old, stuffy bear. It was brown, the fake fur matted and stained.

"Dad I…" Alaska hesitated, his eyes dropping to America's naked chest. "Do…you want me to go back?"

"No- it's okay." America pushed the annoyance he previously felt at being interrupted, and focused his full attention on the boy. "What's wrong?"

"I…" Alaska's gaze turned glassy from unshed tears. "I had a nightmare. You…and Ivan…everyone was dead and I was all alone and…"

"Aww, shhh…" America opened the door wider and gathered the young boy into his arms. "It was just a nightmare. Everything's okay."

"I know…but…" Alaska squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into America's bare chest. "It was so real! You and Ivan were dead and the alien was alive and… everything was gone." Alaska pulled away, revealing a pink, tearstained face. "Can I stay with you and Ivan?"

America hesitated. Alaska pushed, giving him big pleading eyes.

"Please?" Alaska pushed. "I don't want to be alone in that room again."

America melted, threw an _I'm sorry_gaze to Russia and wrapped his arms around Alaska's shoulders.

"Of course. Come on, let's get you to bed."

Alaska pulled away with a grateful smile and rushed to the bed, crawling into the sheets and cuddling with Russia. America shut the door, making sure to lock it this time, and slid into the sheets with the other two. Alaska fell asleep in seconds, face pressed to America's chest, body half sprawled over him as he used him as a pillow. Russia lay opposite of him, watching them for a moment before making himself comfortable. The three slept together on the bed, all giving each other warmth and comfort with their presence.

* * *

One Year Later

After the battle for the Diomede Islands, the aliens defenses withered and they fled further south to the equatorial regions. America, Canada and Mexico and other nations of North and Central America were both in the southern half of the continent, switching between fighting in the deep jungles of Brazil and the mountains of Peru. All of the neighboring nations pooled resources to continue fighting and eradicate the aliens from the continent. Russia returned to his home, and went south to aid southern Asia in fighting the aliens. The nations of Europe and the Middle East were now deep in the savannahs and jungles of Africa to help with the war effort. The aliens grew more desperate in their attacks, turning to guerrilla warfare and tactics. Stealing weapons and supplies from anywhere they could find and returning to the thick jungles where the tree cover helped keep them hidden. But with both the local and foreign powers fighting them, the aliens were slowly losing. Many started succumbing to the earthborn diseases humans normally were able to fight off, some even as simple as the common cold. It wasn't until three days after Christmas that the last of the aliens were killed on the South American continent. In the following week, the last of the aliens on earth were eradicated.

On New Year's Eve, the alien nation disappeared from its holding cell.

The news traveled over the wires like a wildfire consuming a dry meadow. Celebrations and joyous victory consumed every man, woman and child as nationalities were forgotten to share the praise and victory. Many shouted and yelled, hugged and cried out for joy. Other's broke into tears, remembering their friends and loved ones that were lost in the flash and the war. And others merely took it in stoic silence, the realization slower for them. The invasion and subsequent war afterword narrowly consumed an entire decade. An entire generation of children were conceived and raised in the hellish conditions, learning of the time before the flash, and how life changed after.

Celebrations followed directly after the news of the alien nations disappearance was announced, kegs of beer opened and joyous parties erupted all over the massive camp the combined military forces were gathered. America and Canada sat together on a large table with the other central and south American nations. All talking and laughing at the same time, drinking beer and eating military rations. Hours into the party, Canada finally excused America and himself and together they walked – Canada walked, America staggered and tripped – back to the tent they shared, where the northern twin promptly dumped America to his bed roll.

"Ow…fuck." America whined, rolling toward Canada's bed roll that was a mere arm's length away. "Why'd'ya have to drop me?"

"If you throw up, do it in this bucket." Canada dropped a bucket in the space between their rolls.

"Mm'not gonna throw up." America sighed kicked his boots off and snuggled into his pillow.

Canada only rolled his eyes and dropped to his own bed roll, kicking his boots off and tugging his shirt off before collapsing with a sigh. America lifted his hand and touched the wall of their tent, a stiff white canvas thick enough to keep the rain out, but open enough to allow a soothing breeze.

"Hey…Mattie." America called, voice subdued and quiet. "The aliens…they're gone. From our land. And this land. And…all land. From Earth."

"I know."

"They're…_really _gone." America stared at the ceiling of the tent. "We defeated them. All of us."

"I know."

"I…" America squeezed his eyes shut. "Thought this day would never come. Hearing the headlines of…the aliens defeat. The alien nation being…gone. Erased from existence."

"He fought so hard…even after the genocide of his people, he still fought…that alien nation. The nameless nation." Canada removed his glasses and put them in a safe spot near his pillow. "All the way to the bitter end."

"Hey." America reached across and grabbed Canada's arm, squeezing it gently. "We…did the right thing. Right? Killing them all. And their ships." America struggled to support coherent thought process and form it into words. "Everything…right?"

"They threatened our planet." Canada reasoned. "They were going to kill off our species…and everything else on Earth. We had every right to defend ourselves."

"Even when…they were on the run?" America asked again, voice small and delicate. "When they had no hope of winning?"

"…Yes." Canada reassured him. "We had no choice. If we let them survive, then the alien nation would have lived. And he wanted nothing but our death."

"But…" America curled his fingers around the palm of Canada's hand, linking their fingers together. The mutual touch gave them comfort. "Isn't that… what they did to us?"

Canada fell silent for a long moment before turning to stare at America.

"What?"

"I mean…" America licked his dry, chapped lips. "The only reason they….did what they did. Was so they could…live. Survive." America closed his eyes. "They didn't have a home. A…planet."

"They could have found one. Like Tony's people did."

"But they couldn't." America sighed. "I…yeah. We did the right thing."

"Al…" Canada sat up, fingers still linked with America's. "Are you okay?"

America turned to look at him, sat up and vomited into the bucket.

* * *

Northern Mexico – Five Months Later

America sat in the far corner of the train car wearing old jeans, boots and a dark blue button up shirt. Canada sat next to him, the first two buttons of his white shirt undone, jeans rolled up to his knees, shoes and socks off, book opened and used as a fan to push the furnace-like air to his sweaty neck.

"I want to go home." Canada moaned and dropped the book, taking out a piece of cloth to tie his hair back. "I miss Katya."

"I miss Ivan." America pouted. "Wish I had skype. Or the internet. Or a phone. Or _anything_better than the fucking telegraph to keep in touch over long distance."

"Don't get started. Please." Canada picked up the book again and returned to fanning air to his face and neck. "I hate it just as much as you do."

"I need a vacation." America sighed wearily. "I honestly can't wait for the meeting in London."

"It will be nice to get away." Canada's tone was short, clipped, _annoyed_.

America glanced at him, picking up on his twin's mood. "You know Katya's coming. Right?"

"…I- what?" Canada turned to him in surprise. "How do you know this?"

"Ivan…_might_ have mentioned it to me in a recent telegraph." America smirked. "Bet you _really_wanna come now, huh?"

Canada couldn't help the chuckle that escaped. Smirking, he slugged America in the shoulder.

"Idiot."

"Baby."

Canada relaxed back into the seat and continued to fan himself. America looked out the window, watching the endless desert valleys and large mountains pass by.

_I can't wait to see you again…but I wonder… if you'll like my__**idea**__?_

* * *

Southern England – Late Fall

It was raining when Canada and America arrived at the Inn England designated for the nations to stay at. The two found their rooms, unpacked and were in the middle of eating breakfast when Russia and Ukraine arrived.

Canada jumped up upon seeing her, crossed the room and flung his arms around her in a fierce hug. Ukraine laughed at his eagerness, but returned the huge with fervor, her cheeks bright pink with glee. America and Russia merely shared a mutual smile, eyes locking together for a moment before America stood and hugged him fiercely. The two parted, and Russia took a seat beside America. Together the group ate breakfast, sharing stories of their long travels over boat, train and horse carriages. Once breakfast was finished, the group left for the meetings, all of which took place at a large meeting hall in a small village. The other nations of the G8 – and those that were invited – all slowly emerged into the room. Japan was able to make it this time, and everyone greeted him and asked him of his journey. America was the first to do so, as he hadn't seen his old friend since before the flash. England brought the group together and the presentations started. Discussions about rebuilding and recovery filled the debates, but everyone remained friendly and agreeable.

The day passed by quickly, lunch was called, and soon the discussions were ended for the day. America left with Russia, both disappearing to their room for the evening before reappearing for dinner. Canada and Ukraine were still nowhere to be found, but America didn't bother to ask for their whereabouts. It was then when America tugged Russia outside to the garden, both sitting off to the far side, wild grasses growing tall and surrounding them. Moonlight spilled over the village, illuminating the buildings, trees, bushes and roadways.

"I will never tire of viewing the night sky." Russia admitted, voice soft.

"Me either." America grinned and glanced at Russia. "It's one of the only things that don't change."

"Yes." Russia agreed. "I know that, despite all of the changes we go through…the stars and the moon will remain constant. They will always be there."

"Yeah."

America lay back on the grass, tugging Russia with him. Together they lay under the stars, hands clutching each other, fingers laced together.

"I want to go back."

"Back..where?" Russia asked, still focused on the night sky.

"Back to the moon."

A paused. Russia sat up and focused a bewildered stare on America.

"You are…not serious." Russia blinked, confusion filling him. "Right?"

"Nope. I'm really serious." America also sat, up, eyes shining brightly. "I'm serious enough to ask you to come with me."

"Come with you?" Russia gaped, mouth parting in surprise. "But-…not possible. The recovery effort…the money, and technology required…"

"That's what they said last time. And look what we accomplished!"

"That was before the flash." Russia frowned. "We had the means back then. Now…"

"Now, our technology level is around the same time period as…oh 1910. Or so. We're just getting cars, phones and machinery back. We're still using steam engines, the telegraph and horses. But…if you think about it. Back then, we had to _discover_the new technology. Now, we already know about it. We just have to…bring it back."

"This…why are you bringing this up now?"

"Because I don't want our people to be afraid of the sky anymore." America insisted, eyes blazing. "I want people to look up there and feel what you and I feel. Excitement and wonder…and curiosity. Not fear."

Russia peered at him for a long moment before America spoke again.

"If you and I agree to do this, and we managed to convince our bosses, we'd be able to do it." America grinned. "Together we could build it, and take a group of our people to the moon. They would beam back the radio and video feed, and people would watch us go back to the moon."

"And then to Mars, I hope." Russia allowed a small, shy smile to tug at his lips. "And beyond the reaches of our solar system."

"Yeah." America clasped their hands together. "Everyone is invited. If they want to pool resources together…we could show the universe that…the human race won't be beaten down so easily. We defeated the planet hunters! Something no one else was able to do! Well-…with the help of Tony of course…but still! Think about it!" America grinned hugely. "For the first time in thousands of years…the planet hunters were defeated and-!"

A small, breathless giggle escaped Russia's throat before he could help it. America grinned back, chuckling softly.

"You have big dreams, Alfred." Russia pulled him close and wrapped his arms around the younger nation. "Sometimes they are too big…but that is just one of many reasons why I love you."

America blushed fiercely under the moonlight. Russia smiled at him, eyes softening with affection.

"At first, I wasn't so sure…but when you invited me to that planetarium...I knew."

"…Really?" America's voice was breathless. "You…just knew? Right then?"

"Yes."

America laughed, and threw his arms around Russia, hugging him tightly to his chest. Russia returned the hug and pressed his face to America's shoulder. The two remained pressed together until they fell to the soft earth, curling around and against each other. Their arms wrapped around each other's waists and shoulders haphazardly. America kept his head pressed to Russia's shoulder, and Russia kept his head aloft using the back of his left arm. Their legs tangled and wove together as they lay out under the stars, watching the moon rise and fall from the sky, pointing out the planetary bodies among the surrounding stars.

Laying there, watching the stars and hearing their names…America couldn't help but think of Tony.

The pain of his leaving was dull…but still there. Buried deep within America's chest. Buried with all of his other pains and sorrows he'd endured over his lifetime. Friends he'd made, whether it be his citizens, military personnel or presidents…all held a place within him, so their memory would never wither. Like a book of memories, all snug and condensed together. With Tony's leave, it only added another page to the tome. The only physical items he had left from Tony was his red backpack, the old plastic star chart, and the hand written letter. America let his gaze settle on the moon and studied its face. The dark splotches contrasting with the soft white. The names all ran through his mind, still memorized even after all the time spent focusing on the invasion.

_Don't give up on restarting the space program, no matter what people say about the cost._

Tony's words still echoed through his mind. The words burned into his memory.

_I will._ America promised. _It might take a while…but I'll definitely do it._

America lifted a hand up and let his fingers move across the image of the moon in the sky before dropping his hand to Russia's chest.

_I'm coming back, __**Luna**__, and this time I won't be alone._

**(The End)**


End file.
